


Your Mission if You Choose to Accept It

by WareWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chapter 8 contains AU of Executioner's Song, Crowley is redeemable, M/M, Season/Series 09 Spoilers, Season/Series 10 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:22:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WareWolf/pseuds/WareWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things aren't going so well for Crowley, King of Hell, in his domain.  He's been forced to hand over his new Knight of Hell, Dean Winchester, back to his brother Sam.  His rule in Hell has become erratic and he's perhaps more dangerous to friends than foes.  If he had friends.  Only one person can help him and that one is stuck in Heaven. Singer.  Bobby Singer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bobby Singer remembered the angel Castiel, as he might have vaguely remembered a dream.  Heaven was like that.  Not only did you live in your own version of heaven, but it tempered the soul's memories of its time on Earth, emphasising the best and distancing the worst.  Thinking about that tended to make him grumpy; he didn't like interference, but then of course Heaven would work on that and make him feel all fuzzy.

 So he was outside in his junkyard on another heavenly perfect day,  polishing Dean's Impala.  Nothing wrong with it, of course, it just needed a bit of TLC.  Castiel spoke from behind him, "I hope I am not disturbing you, Bobby."

 "No – no, you're fine.  Don't often get visits from your people."

 "This is only me visiting you,"  Castiel pointed out, with that baffled look that always amused Bobby.  Castiel was definitely the most human of the angels, even if there was a lot of work to do there yet.

 "So it is,"  Bobby sighed.  He considered a few greetings and settled on the one he hoped least likely to confuse the angel.  "Can I do something for you, Cas?"

 "Yes, you can."  Castiel thought about whatever it was for a few seconds or hours – time was odd in Heaven – and finally continued. "We – that is the Host – need you to talk to Crowley."

 "What the hell?"

 "We need someone to re-balance the King of Hell,"  Castiel specified.  "You are the only one who was ever close to Crowley...."

 "I wouldn't go _that_ far,"  Bobby cautioned.  "Bastard kept showing up to see me, never asked, even while he was holdin' my soul and knew I wanted it back.  Then when I finally found out enough about him to threaten him, I got it back.  And he still dropped around!"

  _It had been oddly like friendship.  Crowley would materialise out of nowhere, sometimes scaring the crap out of him while he had his head in some car's guts, wanting to have a drink with him, to talk about nothing at all.  And make him laugh, sometimes.  Amber eyes flecked with red flames, watching him almost appealingly.  And when the Leviathan took him out and he'd been headed for here, Crowley had stepped in the way.  Why?  Hadn't tortured him worth speaking about in Hell.  Bad, yeah, and Bobby had yelled at him when he did show up, but nothing like the horrors that went on in the dungeons..  Crowley hadn't known how to handle rejection.  Hadn't known how to ask, so he had just taken.  That was a demon._

"Yes,"  Castiel affirmed, tracking the thoughts without difficulty.  "He did not know how to ask you..."

 "Ask me to come to Hell and be done over?"

 "No.  Ask you to be his friend."  The angel visibly considered whether to keep going and gamely did so.  "From what I have been able to discover, Crowley wished to be more than a friend to you."

 It took Bobby a few appalled seconds to work out what _that_ meant.  He made a sound partway between a groan and a laugh.  "Castiel, haven't the boys been able to teach you anything?  If you want a straight guy – me – to do you a favour, you don't come up to him and suggest that the King of Hell had the hots for him?"  It helped, somehow, to distance the pronoun.  He didn't want to admit that it made sense.  So often Crowley had shown up and had no real reason for it, especially after they got Bobby's soul back off him.  He'd say Bobby owed him a drink but then he would scoff and call Bobby's booze "rotgut" and only sip from his flask.  He would get in the way of Bobby's work as efficiently as a cat, sitting on his desk or blocking his light or any damn thing.  And the touching.  If it wasn't pats on the arm or shoulder, it was on the back or the leg or anywhere Crowley could reach.   It had made the snatching-to-Hell stuff all the more perplexing.

 "What's happened to Crowley?"  Bobby asked at last.  "It's not like we get news here, except when someone new shows up and then not always."

 Castiel filled him in, too methodically, on the events since Bobby had finally reached Heaven.  The old hunter's eyes widened in shock as Castiel described how the angels had fallen from Heaven, the demonic trials which Sam had undertaken and nearly died in – "Damn idjit!" – the brothers' imprisonment of Crowley and later release in the deal he had made with Dean, which got more mutterings and finally Dean's death and reawakening as a demon.

 "Crowley took him,"  Castiel explained earnestly.  "He later said that Dean would have died if he had left him, that Sam or I would have killed him, believing that Dean's soul was no longer present.  I think he is correct.  But also he wanted what he has never had – a friend.  Crowley went AWOL from Hell.  I think the phrase is "off the reservation."  Even his most loyal demons have begun to speculate that the King had lost his hold on power.  Then Crowley returned Dean to Sam, saying he was uncontrollable.  At this point Crowley returned to Hell."

 "Good,"  Bobby muttered, but somehow he was remembering his old book-crowded study and the demon lounging in Bobby's armchair, eyes for once amber and fully human.  That evening, Bobby had been feeling more lonely than usual.  No calls for days, not even from Sam and Dean, no one wanting his help and certainly not his company.  Then a brief rush of air and scent of sulphur and a certain immaculately-groomed demon was there, greeting him outrageously with, "Hello, darling.  Miss me?"  And he had.  _"Make yourself useful,"_ he had told Crowley.  _"Get us something decent to drink;  I'm out of booze."_

 They had spent hours drinking and talking that night, moving from study to sitting room to sit on the couch and yarn about whatever a demon and a hunter might have in common.  Which was actually quite a lot, even if they had usually been on opposing sides. 

 He missed him,  Bobby admitted silently.  Heaven was....pastel.  It was peaceful and it was happy and friends who had also passed would come to visit.  But it had no snarky demon in a smart black suit.  No demon at all.  That was kind of the idea.

 "If that was the end of it, that would be the end of it,"  he growled at Castiel.  "King of Hell back there, all's well."

 "I once spared Crowley's life because I believed the balance of Heaven and Hell was best served thus,"  Castiel told him.  "There must be a Hell and it must be ordered.  Crowley provided this, as Lucifer, Lilith and Abaddon did not.  At least, he did.  Now Hell has fallen into chaos."

 "How do you know?  Do you have spies in there?"  Bobby honestly would not put that past the Heavenly Host.  Despite the subject of conversation, he felt invigorated.  Alive again.  Being a soul in Heaven was, well, pastel.  He had told the boys he didn't want to go.  So he had been on the verge of becoming a vengeful ghost; well, didn't that prove the point?  Even if Crowley would have seized his soul again, had not Naomi stepped in.  If he did go back, he and Crowley were going to have a decent chat.

 "Crowley has become erratic and dangerous."

 "And this is news how?"

 "He always acted from enlightened self-interest,"  the angel went on.  "He despises other demons but he protected them.  He maintained the balance."

 "Torturing and killing all the way,"  Bobby growled.  "And don't even try to tell me every soul in Hell actually deserves to be there."

 Castiel was too damn literal to live.  He nodded and changed the subject.  "The Host is agreed, or at least enough to swing the matter.  If _you_ agree, Bobby Singer, we will return you to Earth."

 "You said they burned me, like I asked."

 "Enough was found to recreate,"  Castiel said, somewhat evasively.  Bobby decided he really didn't need to know the details.  "We can set you in a location from which you will be able to find Crowley.  Your house, however..."

 "I know, I know.  Try to recreate my wallet with some cash too, okay?  I'm gonna need to set myself up somewhere even if it's just a damn motel like the boys live in."

 "They have the bunker of the Men of Letters, but it is perhaps wise if you do not contact them at this time."

 Questions sprang to Bobby's mind but he shoved them aside to focus on the important thing.  "At this time?  How long am I going to have back down there?  Until I do this intervention on Crowley?"

 "I cannot say how long your days will be, but we will return you as healthy as it is possible for your vessel to be."

 "You mean I'm going back there for good?  I mean, for a decent lifespan?"

 "That is up to you, Bobby Singer."


	2. Chapter 2

Two years, Bobby thought.  Feels like a hell of a lot longer.

He stood in a winter's day, feeling uncomfortably cold for the first time in way too long.  As a ghost, he hadn't been aware of temperatures at all, so he supposed it was more than two years since he had really felt human.  He could _feel_ the gravity of the planet and the heaviness of the body around him, the work it took to breathe, for his heart to pump blood, all of it.  The jacket Castiel had provided him was too light, so he was freezing, but that didn't matter.  He was here.  Alive.  A second chance, no, he was way beyond the second chance.

This was some park on the edge of the town where the boys were holed up in some old bunker.  Lebanon, Kansas.  Cas was going to arrange for Dean to call Crowley and get him to come to a meet, ostensibly with Cas himself.  Bobby thought that idea was full of holes.  The boys would probably want to show up themselves and Cas had already said he might want to stay clear for a bit, given the Mark of Cain business.  For once, the angel was easy to read:  Bobby's return would be a huge distraction and Sam and Dean didn't need that.  Not right now. 

"Why don't I just summon the bastard and keep you and the boys out of things?"  Bobby had inquired, thinking that was logical enough, but Cas had thought that might not be a good idea.  They were not sure of the current state of Crowley's powers or even really what headspace he was in.  Apart from crazy, that was.  Pissing him off by calling him into a trap was probably not a good start.

He was hungry too, Bobby realised, and that was also new.  Oh, you could eat in Heaven.  Meals with your loved ones were a big thing in almost everyone's Heavens, though he had never been comfortable with fooling himself like that.  But now, thoughts of burgers and hot dogs and whisky and hot coffee jumbled in his head.  First somewhere to stay, he told himself, then he'd eat, get his first real night's sleep in years and then try to decide what on earth he could talk about with the King of Hell.

Maybe he'd catch up on what had been happening on this little ball of earth while he had been gone.

 

*          *          *

 

Bobby walked through the little town, headed for the park where Cas had "dropped" him.  That was where Crowley would be told the meet was.  Probably he'd show up with a brace of hellhounds in case of treachery, not being a trusting individual.  Probably Bobby would find himself whistling straight back to Heaven, the moment after the demon king saw him.  Or maybe Hell.  He squelched along – there'd been some heavy rain not long before – and zipped up the heavy secondhand coat he had managed to buy that morning while exploring Lebanon.

And heard, well before he got to the park, that familiar raspy British accent coming from behind him.  His neck hadn't even prickled.  He whirled around on the lonely street – there was nothing but a vacant lot on one side and what looked like an abandoned car yard on the other, complete with rusted out wrecks.  Great place to get mugged.  Heaven had completely wrecked his instincts, Bobby thought even as he turned to face the man in a black suit who stood, hands in his pockets, staring at him like someone not at all used to seeing the risen dead.

"Robert Singer, as I live and breathe,"  the demon said.  "Which of course I don't technically have to do."

Crowley was bearded, unlike the round-faced, clean-shaven incarnation of hellspawn Bobby remembered.  The beard made him look leaner, grimmer.  There was little sign of the deliberately effeminate mannerisms which had put Bobby so off balance in the past.  The years hadn't been comfortable, King of his domain or not, and of course from what Castiel had said, losing Dean from his control after he had been sure of him, that would have to hurt anybody as arrogant, yet as lonely, as Crowley.

Crowley continued to study him warily and Bobby realised;  the King didn't believe this was actually him and wasn't yet sure just which monster had taken Bobby Singer's form.  He knew, as few could ever be certain, that Bobby's mortal vessel had perished and that he had done time in both Hell and Heaven.

"It's me,"  he said.  "Ask me anything."

Dark brows rose thoughtfully.  "What did I say when you asked me why I had to take a picture?"

Bobby hoped the light was bad enough that the demon couldn't see him blushing.  He could feel that he was, damn it.  They were alone in the motel car-park, but he still glanced around to make sure of it.  "You asked me why I had to use tongue.  Did you have to ask me that?"

"Now or then?"

"Either,"  Bobby growled.  "Look, I've spent my life on the phone pretending to be other people, it seems, so yeah, I could lie if I wanted to and spin you a story about how I came back.  How would you ever check?  Castiel talked to me in Heaven and asked me to come back so I could talk to you.  He told me some stuff." 

"I see.  So you're his puppet now?"

"Look, what I am is freezing my ass off.  You want to find a bar somewhere so I can get out of this weather and we can have a drink."

"So you're not too good to drink with me now?"

"I want to talk to you,"  Bobby said.  "Whether you drink is up to you, but I'm sure going to."

The King studied him awhile longer and nodded briefly.  Bobby saw a brief flash of red in his eyes and wondered again, desperately in Castiel's direction, what in  _hell_ the angel thought he could do to sway this being.  He didn't even know specifics beyond the crazy story of Dean becoming a demon and the Biblical Mark of Cain, which was sure not in any of the lore he had ever collected or read.  He made a vague gesture of invitation down the road and started to trudge.  Crowley could come along or not.  For a few heartbeats he walked alone and then he glimpsed the black of Crowley's coat beside him.

"So,"  the demon said, "back from Heaven.  How was your vacation?"

"Bland,"  Bobby answered finally.  "But a damn relief after all the screwing around.  No thanks to you.  You want to tell me, sometime, just why you snagged my soul?  Petty revenge not below you?"

"Of course not,"  Crowley said, but he seemed troubled.  "Raincheck, Robert.  We do need to sort out a few matters first."

Bobby let Crowley choose the bar.  The demon swung into an establishment seemingly at random and Bobby followed into the relief of warmth and music.  It wasn't midday yet, so there were only a few patrons.  Young backpackers for the most part.  Still, he felt their eyes on him and his back prickled uncomfortably until he slid into a booth opposite Crowley.  He heard Crowley talking to a barmaid and looked down to see a frothing beer before him.  "Thanks,"  he mumbled.

"You're as nervous as a girl on her first date,"  Crowley chided.  "I don't bite, you know."

At that, Bobby raised his gaze to the demon's face and saw something he had not expected to see.  Earnestness.  Crowley wanted to believe, but he struggled against that.  Suddenly, Bobby smiled.  "Yeah, you do,"  he said.  "Wouldn't be where you are if you didn't."

"Yes, well, where I am is not exactly a fun space,"  Crowley shrugged.  His gaze remained on Bobby's face.  The old hunter felt a touch on his wrist and looked down to see Crowley had slid his hand closer and rested two fingers on his arm, pressing lightly as though to test his solidity.

"I'm not a ghost,"  Bobby said.  In the dark booth, it was unlikely that anyone could see the contact and get the wrong idea, well, possibly the wrong idea.  It was Crowley, after all.  But he didn't move his arm away. 

"I have . . . missed you, Bobby Singer." 

God, the uncertain words from Crowley got him right in the gut.  All those damn head games, Bobby thought, and he never cared crap for what anyone said or did.  But he does now.  Is Cas right; did what Sam did to him in the trials stick somehow, even a little?  Bobby reached for his beer and raised it in an unspoken salute, that might have been:  That's all right.  Or perhaps a bit of Yeah, same here.

Crowley recovered himself and also lifted his beer.  "So.  Tell me about Heaven.  It's not a place I've any first-hand experience of, you know."

Bobby opened his mouth to say something of his time in Paradise and stopped.  It wasn't that he thought he shouldn't tell the King of Hell what Heaven had been like, but suddenly it was all gone.  He tried mentally to snatch at the last few days, to describe a snapshot of one's own individual Heaven, but he was blank.  What came into his head was a memory of being in hospital, dying, the boys there.  Crowley watched him and frowned.  "Can't be that bad."

"I can't remember,"  Bobby said painfully.  "I can remember being in hospital after the Leviathans got me."

"You stayed behind as a spirit,"  Crowley said.  "Do you remember that?"

"I – shit."

"How about Hell?"

"I know I was there,"  Bobby said.  "But I reckon your secret clubhouse is safe, because I can't remember a damn thing – pun not intended – about that either."

"Interesting,"  Crowley mused. 

"I've got Cas in my head talking to me about the stuff that went down after I left,"  Bobby went on.  "I guess I remember him because he's here on Earth as well as the other place.   Him wanting me to come back to talk to you."

"Why is that, exactly?"  The walls were down again and Crowley moved his hand away from Bobby's wrist.  "Why can't the bloody angel talk to me himself if he wants to?"

"Reckon he thinks you won't listen,"  Bobby sighed.  "Look, he said things happened that made you erratic and dangerous.  His words.  You had Dean with you for awhile but that went south.  I'm not askin' you for details, I'm not sure I even understand half of what Cas said.  The Mark of Cain?  That's in the Bible and only in the Bible, not in the lore or in any creature's memory.  Castiel doesn't know how to get rid of it and he goes back to the start of everything, just about.  I have got no idea why you should listen to me.  You never did in the past.  I told you to get lost enough times and you sure didn't do that."

The guarded look softened a little at this admission.  "Another beer?"

"I want to, but I'm so damn tired I could fall asleep here.  Last night I was so stirred up I couldn't sleep a wink.   I'm staying at some motel a street that way."  Bobby gestured vaguely north.  "You can see me there if you're not headed back to Hell."

"Hell,"  Crowley mused.  "My throne room and a throng of sycophantic demons just waiting for the chance to stab me in the back.  Or the front.  Or from above my head.  Wanting me to settle their petty squabbles and give them favours.  An endless stream of creatures with demands or demons who've overstepped their authority and then I have to decide whether to put  _them_ back on the rack or just burn them out of their hosts where they stand.  Hell stinks, you know.  Stinks of fear and resentment and oceans of blood and misery."

"Yeah,"  Bobby said gently.  "That's kinda the idea of the place."

"So."  Crowley stood, his voice aggressively cheerful.  "I believe I have a few minutes to spare from those delights."

There weren't many people outside thanks to the winter weather, and Bobby intended to be out of it again as soon as he could.  The demon at his side was quiet as they made their way back to the motel and the single room that was currently Bobby's home.  He didn't even have any belongings to scatter about.  Crowley glanced dismissively about and then sat down on the single chair.  "Charming,"  he commented.

"Right,"  Bobby muttered.  He sat down on the bed and pulled off his boots. "You see Sam and Dean at all since Dean went back?"

"Sam delivered the usual death threat when I last saw him, so no."

"Cas said he and Sam managed to turn Dean back to human."

"I heard that."

Not a subject he likes, Bobby thought.  He hadn't asked Castiel whether Crowley had tried to seduce Dean for real, rather than the constant stream of innuendo he'd aimed at the elder Winchester.  He well might have, if he thought Dean would now be simpatico, but what Bobby was reading was that Crowley wanted friends.  Maybe family, though from his history, it didn't seem that Crowley had much good experience of that.  And so help him, he couldn't ask Crowley about romantic stuff involving another guy!  He was too damn tired to care now anyway.  He had spent the night with his nerves jangling at every sound around him, feeling like every stranger was scrutinising him.  Two years out of the loop meant none of the news stories made any sense to him at all.

"I hate to be a bad host but I gotta sleep,"  he said at last.  "Do you want to meet up tomorrow?"

"Two dates two days in a row, Robert.  People will talk."

"Everybody's favourite hobby."  Bobby stood, yawning, and the demon got to his feet.

"Well then.  I'll see you some time tomorrow." 

Bobby didn't see it coming.  Crowley started to head for the door, then turned around to him and reached up quick as a snake, kissing his cheek before he could do anything.  "I  _did_ miss you, Bobby,"  he said, his voice very soft and then he vanished, not even bothering with the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to read about Supernatural's timeline and got hopelessly confused. So if I'm wrong about how long Bobby has been in Heaven, please somebody let me know :-) This isn't beta-read because I don't know anyone to do it and I probably do forget bits of canon here and there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware. There is Crowley/Bobby cuddling.

Bobby slept for about three hours, which revived him enough to go and get something to eat.  He didn't pay much attention to what it was.  Fuel.  Then he went back to the room and did some concentrated thinking, after which he fell asleep on the bed, still fully dressed.  He woke again, vaguely aware that it was night, and that something else had changed.

He wasn't alone.

He couldn't hear anything or see anything, it was just that instinct which tended to make a hunter grab for a weapon in the dark.  Except, of course, he had no weapons.  Why hadn't he made Castiel give him some stuff?  It wasn't like him to tamely do what some angel said.  Except he'd been in Heaven, hadn't he, and Heaven worked on you that way.  Bobby turned on the bedside lamp, somewhat reassured that nothing was lunging at him.  And saw Crowley in the chair, quite at his ease, looking back at him.

"Sorry, love,"  the demon king said, not sounding apologetic.  "I did say I'd see you tomorrow.  It's tomorrow."

Bobby looked at the clock radio on the bedside unit.  12:04.  "Okay,"  he said, trying to wake up properly.  "If you stay, you have to answer some questions for me and not get pissed off."

"Absolutely snit free,"  Crowley assured him.

Bobby snorted at that.  "You go back to Hell?"  he asked, trying to ignore the weirdnessof this question.  "You sort stuff out like the King of Hell's meant to do to keep the place chugging on?  Basically, did you do your job or did you scream at your minions and vaporise one or two that annoyed you the most?"

"That _is_ my job, Robert."

"Your endless queue;  is that still in place?  Or have you let it go back to the traditional mess it used to be?  Torturing souls until they hurt so bad they turned to abusing their own and became demons?"

"It's Hell, Robert.  Yes, I've been a bit distracted lately, training my new Knight of Hell, who turned out to be a less than brilliant move, I will admit."

"You stayed topside and let Hell fall into chaos.  You weren't training him; you were partying around the country.  Hell can't be chaos, Crowley.  Hell and Heaven and Earth are a system;  they need each other.  This angel Metatron did a real good job on screwing up Heaven and you're doing the same to Hell.  I know I don't know enough to tell you how to do your job but truth is, you aren't doing your damn job, are you?"

Crowley's eyes flashed red and he blinked out, reappearing on his feet beside the bed.  Demonstration of power, Bobby thought.  Let me see what I'm dealing with.  "Your demons tried to tell you, didn't they?"  he persisted, struggling to a sitting position against the head of the bed.  "Told you you needed to stop messing around with Dean and pay attention to them.  You despise them, so you don't listen to them, but you got to get over that!"

"Bobby Singer is telling me how to manage my demons?"  Crowley snapped, raising his gaze ironically heavenward.  "One of those demons accused me of wasting time with my _boy toy_ while unrest grew in the realms below.  Do you know how I answered that criticism?"

"Terminally, I guess,"  Bobby growled back.  "So was Dean your boy toy?  You try to get him in bed, did you?  He wasn't having any so you chucked him back at Sam.  Bet that burned your ass."

There was a dull banging on the wall on the other side of the bed and Bobby started, cursing.  They could clearly hear an irate male voice. "You faggots shut the hell up or I'll come and make ya!"

"Oh for God's sake!"  Bobby hit the wall in return.  "I ain't a damn faggot!"

"Bobby, that perhaps is not a helpful move..."

 

*          *          *

 

Outside in the freezing night, Bobby delivered a unrelenting glare down on the King of Hell, who seemed unmoved by it.  "Thanks ever so fucking much, asshole.  That is the first time I have ever been thrown out of a place and it's all due to you."

"Not quite, darling,"  Crowley offered.  "If you had stopped at striking the wall, they might simply have charged you extra.  But to grab the front of the man's singlet and knock him into the wall when he came personally to instruct you on your error; that was possibly what caused the proprietor to expel us.  Or not, considering that he was also trying to sleep in the next room along and didn't care to hear any more from a couple of "old pervs" having a lover's tiff."  Crowley grinned cheerfully at that. "I suppose it's also the first time you have been called an old perv?"

"You'd suppose right.  Now suppose you get lost and give me a chance to get another room?  You come along and things will start up again."

"You wound me, Robert.  How would you like to stay in a far better establishment with good company?"

Bobby's look held distinct lack of favour.  "The establishment better not be diabolic and I suppose the good company is you."

Crowley held out his hand.  "It's the Marriott Hotel, or one of them, in Kansas City, where I have booked a suite.  Shall we go?"

Bobby's wrath abated somewhat when they materialised in the aforesaid suite; two bedrooms and a central lounging area, with all five star comforts.  He was certainly not used to such places but he wasn't going to turn it down.  "I got you some clothes,"  Crowley offered.  "They're in the cupboard and drawers in that room to the left.  I tried to keep to your usual fashion preferences."

"Thanks,"  Bobby said gruffly.  "If you intended this all along, why didn't you say?"

For a moment the man looked out of the demon king's eyes.  "I didn't think you would accept it from me."

And he meant that, Bobby realised.  When you put aside all the teasing and flirting, Crowley knew what he had done and he was actually afraid that Bobby would reject him again.  He had waylaid a soul bound for Heaven and he had not done right by that soul.  Nor by Dean, by the sound of things.  In a confused way, Bobby said some of this.

"I didn't know that the Mark would do that,"  Crowley blurted suddenly.  "I knew that it could enhance the bearer's abilities.  That is what we needed, a weapon against Abaddon, who was a Knight of Hell.  But I did not kill Dean, Metatron did.  And once Dean was gone, I did not know that the Mark would bring him back as a demon.  I suspected and once Dean Winchester had been slain, I researched, and so I came to the bunker to be sure.  But I did not know."

"You seduced Dean into takin' the Mark, though, didn't you?  No, I don't mean it like that.  I mean you worked on him, not letting Sam know, until it looked like the only way."

"Well, yes.  And it probably was the only way."

"Cas says the thing's alive, that it's still working on Dean."

Crowley nodded curtly.  "Anthropomorphic of him, but yes, that's essentially correct.  Still, he can learn to control it.  Cain did and Cain was also a demon and a Knight of Hell.  He managed to stop killing."

"So you hear any of the things I said to you?"

Bleak gaze then, no more teasing, and another slight nod.  "I heard you, Bobby Singer."

He was such a lost thing, Bobby thought suddenly.  All the centuries of black magic power he had, demon and witch, fighting his way through the tortures of Hell to rule it, and he was more alone than any creature Bobby had met.  The ultimate survivor, maybe, but he had had little good in life and none beyond it.  It was perhaps that pity speaking that made Bobby Singer extend an arm to Crowley and tell him, "Come here a minute."

Crowley, King of Hell, looked at Bobby's face, then walked into the hunter's arms and buried his face against Bobby's chest, while Bobby's muscular arms closed around his back.  He hugged Crowley close while Crowley's body pressed against him.  Presently Bobby guided him to the elegant sofa and sat with him, feeling Crowley shiver in his arms as though he was crying.  Yet when he lifted his face from Bobby's chest, his amber eyes were dry and there was a look of wonder in them. 

"You all right?"  Bobby asked gruffly.

"I think I am, you know."  Crowley smiled at him and didn't pull away from Bobby's hug.  Nor did Bobby move his arms.  It felt good to hold Crowley, the solid warmth of him.  If he had helped Crowley by this, Crowley had no less helped him.  He felt grounded for the first time since Castiel had left him in the park on the edge of town, newly fallen – or dropped – from Heaven.  A long time later, Crowley stirred, his head resting against Bobby's chest.

"Thought you'd fallen asleep,"  the hunter said quietly.  "I'm goin' to bed.  You can, uh, you can come with if you'd like.  To sleep, I mean."

Crowley chuckled softly.  "Thank you, love.  But I should be about my work.  I will be back tomorrow evening and we can chat about what comes next."

And he was gone.  Bobby's arms were curved around empty air.


	4. Chapter 4

His throne had always felt just right, the place from which he ran Hell as he pleased.  It was carved of some ancient wood, seeped in blood and pain, as was only fitting, and it sat on a dais from which he could survey the demons who came to him for decisions or judgment.  But now, the eyes which shied from his were distrustful, uncertain.  They did not trust him to protect them, to keep the energies of Hell running as they had to do.  They judged him for the long absence he had taken and the dallying with a human pet, for his kind had never quite believed that Dean could be a demon without the flayings and the burnings which had created them.  Not even when they had seen Dean kill.

Crowley had set things in order once more and they still were not satisfied!

He listened as demons came before him, applying to become Crossroads demons.  He questioned them and tested them and finally agreed that they should be allowed topside with a senior partner, to teach them the ropes.  After they had secured five souls of their own, they would go solo.  And yes, the queue was to be reformed.  The only torturing was to be on those who had made deals, the way it was meant to be.  There were plenty of those!  No random time on the rack, in other words.  The King was back.

*          *          *

Bobby looked up as he heard a soft "Ahem," and saw Crowley in the doorway of the bedroom where he was currently buttoning up a clean shirt.  "Hey,"  he greeted awkwardly.

Crowley came in, surveying him as he did so.  "I seem to have chosen the shirt well, that blue suits you."  

"I feel like I'm your pet or something,"  Bobby complained. 

"That means I don't get a hello hug?"

"Come here, you."  Bobby wrapped him in a firm embrace.  He had decided not to worry any more about the fact that he liked hugging Crowley.  It wasn't like anybody could see and truth was, the demon was so pleased about it that it made him feel good too.  "I just don't know what to do,"  he admitted.  "I don't know how I can get my life back.  I don't have the yard or my house and I can't get new ones.  I'm too damn old for anybody to give me a job, even if I could stand to work for anybody else."

"Credit card fraud seems to work for Sam and Dean."

"Yeah, well, they move around and they stay below the radar, or they did.  Government looks at you a bit more carefully if you buy big stuff like a house or a business."

"You seem to be on Castiel's payroll.  Ask him."

"I'm talkin' to you."

"Love, I would help in a flash but I feel a certain amount of resentment would result." 

Bobby worked that out and had to admit that was pretty much what he had been complaining about; being the one who received and didn't give. What did Crowley want, that Bobby could give him?   _Seriously_ , he told his subconscious.  He patted Crowley's back.  "Look, I've kind of changed my mind about keeping clear of the boys.  Maybe if we put our heads together about this Mark thing, we can come up with something.  I won't let them scrag you."

"So kind,"  Crowley said drily.  "I was about to say, once you see their new premises, I think you will see that you can fit in very well.  They have a wonderful library of lore whose potential is yet to be tapped, considering the academic level of at least one of your proteges...."

"Hey.  Dean's not that bad.  And Sam has half a law degree."

"I rest my case."

Bobby ordered room service.  He still wasn't comfortable among people, not that he ever had been that social.  He wanted to be able to make simple meals at home or get takeout, not dine in some fancy room with white tablecloths and hovering waiters who called him "sir."  Crowley sat with him, sipping his whisky from the ever-present flask.  He was quieter than usual, meaning he wasn't talking nonstop, which concerned Bobby a little, but he knew how annoying it could get when people kept asking whether you were all right.  He went into the bathroom to clean up after the meal, then came to sit next to Crowley on the sofa.

"I got no idea how we play this,"  Bobby told the demon.  "If Dean's as trigger-happy as you say, he might gank me on sight.  How do you feel about being the go-between?"

"I can see this degenerating into a contest of who would be ganked first,"  Crowley sighed.

"Well, you talk to them on the phone.  Why don't you do that, set up another meet?  I'm kind of surprised they didn't crash the last one."

"So am I,"  Crowley agreed, frowning slightly as he thought it over.  "I didn't sense them anywhere about but I might not – they're cunning.  Yes, I suppose that would work.  You stay out of sight, I tell them.  You know, it would be a lot better if the angel did the telling.  He's the one responsible, after all."

"It would but we don't have him here and I suspect he doesn't want to do it.  It would raise questions.  Like why Cas didn't bring me back before if he could.  Why did it take a crisis in the netherworld to do it?  Stuff I'm already wondering about."  Bobby wondered whether he could get away with an arm around Crowley's shoulders without the demon saying anything about it.  Probably not.  He sighed and extended the arm.  Crowley promptly cuddled closer.

"I do enjoy this development,"  he commented.  "Perhaps you could kiss me next time?"

_Oh Lord,_   Bobby thought.   _Is he/is he not teasing?_   His traitorous mind asked him the next question:   _Would you mind kissing him?_

"Jeez,"  Bobby managed to say after a few seconds silence.  "Why would you want anythin' with me?  I wouldn't even fetch anything as a trade-in junker."

Crowley laughed quietly and his smile remained as he looked at Bobby, his head lifted from resting against him.  "Robert Singer, you are without price."

"Yeah, because nobody would pay one!"

"You've been kind, Bobby,"  Crowley said abruptly.  "I don't deserve kindness.  More, you've said to me what no one else would.  Order is important to me.  Keeping Hell running is important and I forgot that, in the time I spent with Dean.  But I needed that too.  I needed..."

"A friend?"  Bobby asked gently and the demon king nodded.

"Okay,"  Bobby said, deciding that would be a good place to change the subject.  "About Dean and Sam.  I've been thinking and maybe it's not the best plan to give 'em too much space before I try to tell 'em what's going on.  Get it over, move on and get to work on this damn Mark.  So, do you know a spot close to this "bunker" of theirs that would be suitable for a meet?"

*          *          *

It was a bar.  Of course it was a bar, in what passed for the town's main drag.  Crowley assured Bobby he had seen Sam and Dean in here from time to time so they would not be any more suspicious than usual about the location.  The lighting was subdued and the place crowded enough that Bobby could sit in a back booth from which he could see the bar where Crowley would sit on a stool, hopefully without Sam or Dean spotting him until he was ready.  The demon stood beside Bobby's table and studied him for a moment before reaching out to tug the ball cap from his head.  "Hey, let go of my hat!"

"If you want to be in disguise, love, you do the reverse of anyone else and take  _off_ the cap,"  Crowley suggested.

"Yeah, yeah,"  Bobby grumbled, snatching the cap back and laying it on the table.  "Get into place.  You know they'll be early."

He did, so Crowley nodded and walked casually to the bar, for all the world someone who had just greeted an acquaintance and now come to get a drink.  He settled himself on to a stool, annoyed that he had to swing his feet like a child.  And felt a looming presence at each shoulder.  Where in hell or above it had they come from?  He had scanned the place as they came in and was sure Bobby had.  No Winchesters.  Yet here they were, close enough to kiss or more likely, to stab him in the gut.  They would have seen him come in with Bobby, seen Bobby go to sit in the back.  Had they "made" Bobby, as the charming gangster phrase had it?  Denial could do a lot and the Winchesters, like him, knew for certain that Bobby Singer was dead and gone.

He glanced to the left.  Dean.  On the right, Sam.  Pity they were too mismatched to make decent bookends.  Sam had eased on to a stool, but Dean stood beside him.  "Crowley, you know what's aimed at your ribs,"  his former bestie said, quiet but not whispering.  Sam patted Crowley on the shoulder and called for some beers, keeping up an amiable chatter while Dean talked beneath it, dark and dangerous.  Not the Blade, Crowley knew that at least, but it wasn't the only demon-killing knife out there.

"Why so hostile all of a sudden?"  Crowley asked, keeping his own voice friendly.  He stretched a little and reached for the beer placed before him.  The barman had already moved away.  The Winchesters were good at this.  "You've asked me for meets before.  I've kept my word.  You usually at least let me make my pitch before threatening my unlife."

"Who's your friend?"  Dean could have been asking about a fly on the wall.  "We followed you last time.   Surprise, no Cas.  I thought it was weird that he'd want me to contact you for him but hey, weirder stuff happens.  We know who the hell that guy looks like, Crowley, but that's impossible.  People don't come back.  And that couldn't have been Cas on the phone, just some other angel jerk masquerading as him, Cas wouldn't do something like that without telling us."

"If you think I'll stop him gutting you with a demon blade because we're in public, think again,"  Sam suggested from his other side.  "I found a spell in the lore which looks really handy.  Makes everyone look away at the crucial moment.  Of course, we haven't had a chance to practise it yet."

Crowley sipped his beer.  Substandard.  "If you gut me, you will never hear the end of the story,"  he said in a bored manner.  "I came here prepared to explain all and my friend, as you call him, is staying out of the way to give me a chance to do that."

He paid attention to where the Winchesters were looking and realised with a sudden lightening of spirit, that they were not watching the booth.  So they had not seen him walk in?  They didn't know that his "friend" was actually here.  Nice to know that they weren't actually infallible, he thought wryly; they could look annoyingly like it sometimes.  "Fine,"  Sam said.  "So talk.  Why have you got a demon with you who looks like – the person he looks like.  Why do that and then come to us?"

"He's not a demon,"  Crowley said wearily.  "Call Castiel and ask him."

"You think we haven't tried?  He's not answering and we get his stupid answering message."

"So he wants to stay uninvolved.  Interesting.  Look."  Crowley glanced from side to side and spread his hands.  "Straight out then.  Castiel has brought Bobby Singer from Heaven to stage an, ah, intervention with me.  He thinks that Bobby can get me to concentrate on my job as King of Hell and restore Hell to the lovely, ordered realm it previously was.  At least, that's what I think he thinks.  It can be a little difficult to interpret Castiel sometimes."

"That's it?"  Sam looked blankly at Dean, then back at him.  The erstwhile Knight was being quiet, which wasn't necessarily a reassuring thing.

"He also believes that Bobby and I in combination can assist you to be rid of the Mark.  As you've pointed out, the Mark does not exactly help me any more, now that Abaddon is gone, and if  _it_ is gone, the Blade becomes just another jawbone of an ass and not a weapon I need worry about.  If these things don't concern you, then by all means execute me and worry about the unknown demon who will replace me.  If they  _do_ , then talk to Bobby and satisfy yourselves that he's real.  I understand the hesitation.  It took me awhile to get my head around it."

"Why ask Bobby to talk to you?"  Sam asked, frowning.  It was almost cute.  "It doesn't make sense.  Getting Bobby back to help with the Mark, yeah, but that's not the order in which you said things."

"I sidetracked Bobby to Hell, Sam."  Crowley's voice rasped with an emotion he hadn't realised was there.  He didn't care any more if he gave himself away.  "Didn't that give you any sort of clue?"

"You're disgusting,"  Dean snarled softly.  "What the hell did you do to Bobby?"

 "Nothing." 

 "He's not lying."  Someone else loomed up behind Crowley whom he sensed easily, but he didn't care any more whether one of them stabbed him.  The note in Dean's voice, the hatred there, shouldn't have surprised him and even less hurt him.  Then he felt the hand on his shoulder and knew that wasn't one of the Winchesters.  "Come back and sit down like civilised men and we'll talk." 

Bobby pulled Crowley away from Dean and the hidden knife in his coat and walked him to the booth, with the stunned Winchesters following.  He directed Crowley to sit next to him, which the demon did with relief.  Slowly, Bobby picked up his ball cap lying on the table and put it on his head.  Both Sam and Dean watched him do it and they didn't stop staring at him.

"You got any holy water on you?"  Bobby asked.  Sam silently held out a small flask and Crowley surreptitiously slid away.  Bobby took the flask, swigged and handed it back.  "Sorry,"  he said to the demon.  "Beer'll chase it."

"No problem, love,"  Crowley said softly.

"Now,"  Bobby said to the Winchesters, "if you want more proof, we might have to go somewhere more private.  I don't care what tests you want to do.  But you don't call him disgusting again because he ain't.  You need his knowhow as much as you need mine, and once he's got his head together again properly, there isn't anyone else who would know more.  I'm told you've got some base now.  Can we go there or you need to think it through some more?"

 Dean shrugged wordlessly when Sam looked at him.  The younger Winchester gulped a little then looked back at Bobby.  "We can go there,"  he said.  "But he's going to have some, um, limits put on him before we let him inside."

 "Not the bag on my head again,"  Crowley groaned.  "I know where your bunker is.  I had little to do for weeks but work it out."

 "I'll watch him,"  Bobby said.

 "Uh, we aren't certain that you're you yet, Bobby."

 "Get a grip, boy.  I'm not a demon or a ghost.  I'm solid.  Here."  He held out a hand and Sam warily grasped it.  Bobby held his other hand out to Dean, who looked at it and fist-bumped.  "If I was some shapechanger thing I'd still have reacted to the holy water.  You know that or you should."  He sat back, pulling his hand free from Sam's hold.  "What, you never heard of anyone coming back?"

 "From Hell,"  Dean began.

 "Either way, coming back after something on this side finished you off,"  Bobby retorted.  "Heaven messed with my memories, I don't really remember what it was like being there, so I can't help with any questions.   Same with Hell;  it's all foggy.  I reckon it's a protection, you're not supposed to know those places when you're here."  He glanced questioningly at Crowley, who shrugged lightly;  he didn't know.  "I know I was a spirit, just about a vengeful spirit, and I remember that stuff better, I guess because I was still on this plane of existence, but even that's fading some.  A meat brain isn't designed to remember it."  He looked from one to the other brother.  "So.  Are we good or not?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is relationship stuff between Crowley and Bobby and even some plot.

Crowley stood next to Bobby in the car-park outside the bunker, while the Winchesters argued a few yards away.  "Looks like it's about to fall down,"  Bobby grumbled.

"Appearances are very much deceiving, love."  Crowley looked glumly at the ugly warehouse-like protrusion.  "Well, in some cases.  Dean has *not* put killing me off his to-do list yet."

"He doesn't have this Blade though, right?"

"Right.  I have that in a secure location.  But he still has at least one demon killing knife somewhere and knowledge of other methods that don't even require a knife.  Is there really a reason why I need to move in?  They will be much happier to have you to themselves.  I can always commute."

Bobby looked at him worriedly.  "I guess that makes sense, considering you need to keep your finger on the pulse, in a manner of speaking. "

"I can be with you in a moment,"  Crowley promised. "No summoning necessary.  I'll put you on speed dial."

Bobby laughed and both Winchesters turned to look at him.  "I swear I'm still dreaming.  Look, can you drop in, say in 24 hours?  It's possible there'll be a problem calling you."

"Of course, love." 

Sam walked towards them, leaving Dean opening the door.  He was holding the demon handcuffs, at which sight Crowley shook his head and stepped back.  "Not a chance, Winchester,"  he said.

"We've sorted out he's not staying for now,"  Bobby said gruffly.  "I need to have a proper chat with you two and get rid of any doubts, then we'll sort out that thing on Dean's arm.  Meanwhile, Crowley ain't comfortable bein' in that bunker with him and I don't blame him."

Sam shrugged and shoved the handcuffs into his jacket pocket with surprising amiability.  "Yeah, I don't exactly blame him either.  So – let's head inside."

"In a minute."  Bobby turned and beckoned to the surprised demon, walking away a few more paces with him.  "I guess this is goodbye for now,"  he told Crowley and put a hand on his chest.  "You going to be all right, sort things out and make sure nobody sneaks up on ya?"

"Definitely, Robert."

Bobby considered him for a moment; stocky and indomitable, the neat beard still looking odd to his eyes, but the amber eyes and cheeky grin the same.  When had he begun to look past the demon and see the man, he wondered.  It hadn't been so, when he and Crowley had interacted over the matter of a soul, the use of two legs and some ancient bones.  He was aware of Sam's curious stare, but didn't pull his hand back from contact with Crowley.  "Good.  See you soon then."

Crowley grinned.  "Goodbye kiss?"

"Not right now,"  Bobby said drily.  "I don't want the boys freakin' out at the moment.  You take care of yourself."

Crowley was gone, not even any displacement of air.  Bobby blinked, his mind still insisting that there should still be a person standing in front of him.  He turned slowly to go into the bunker with Sam, Dean having gone ahead.  Yeah, it sure felt like more than a couple of years had gone by since he left.

He followed Sam slowly into the bunker, feeling as though he was burying himself in the ground.  Stopped at the top of the steps to survey the War Room beneath, with its various obsolete equipment and the table with its map of the world.  The place smelled musty.  Abandoned.  "How often you air this place out?" he grumbled.

"There are filters,"  Sam said.  "It's – I can't tell you everything at once but this place could survive the zombie apocalypse."

"Looks like it kinda did."

"Through here there are a lot of rooms,"  Sam went on.  "We think they used to gather here when there was a big job going on, but they had houses and whatever in town and elsewhere.  The rooms are kind of sparse but they're okay.  You can pick wherever you want to be.  This room's Dean's and the one down here,"  he knocked lightly on his own door as he walked, "is mine.  Uh, this one is kind of a mess and we haven't cleared it out yet, because Kev – the person who lived here didn't make it."  He stopped in the concrete hall and waved vaguely around.  "Any of these rooms.  I'll get you some bed linen if the bed isn't made."

"Sam, I'm not sleeping in some bed that hasn't been changed in fifty years."

Sam Winchester smiled at him suddenly.  "It's really you, isn't it?"  Awkwardly he advanced on Bobby and wrapped him in a chest-crushing bear hug.  Bobby felt his feet leave the floor.

"Careful, Sam, I want to keep my ribs now I'm back here!"

"Sorry."

"He's right to call you moose, isn't he?"

"Um."   Sam followed as Bobby opened a door at random and walked in.  There was a single bed, a bedstand and a closet, all covered with a thick layer of dust.   Bobby sneezed.

"I guess this will do,"  he said and began pulling at the blankets on the bed.  "Grab me those sheets, Sam."

*          *          *

By the following night, Bobby had his room pretty much cleaned up and in order.  Which was about the most progress he thought they had made in addressing the grim problem of the Mark of Cain.  At least the boys seemed to accept that he was him and had spent much of the time filling him in on what had gone down while he was "away."  This turned out to be the euphemism of choice.

The library of the Men of Letters was in a fairly chaotic state, to be expected since Sam and Dean basically pulled out books at random to search for info and then put them back in different random places.  Bobby could foresee a good few months simply cataloguing the entire collection properly.  Even so, he believed them when they said there was no recorded lore about the Mark.  "Can't Castiel just blast it off?"  he asked.  "Okay, it's gonna hurt but you should survive it okay."

"He said it's all through me, not just a tattoo,"  Dean explained.  "Like cancer, I guess."

"Nice.  So takin' your arm off wouldn't work either?"

"No,"  Dean growled.

"Keep your hair on.  We have to consider everything.  Crowley have any thoughts about it so far?"

"He thought I should embrace being a demon."

"Why shouldn't he think that?  Makes sense from his perspective."

"Don't defend him, Bobby."  Dean's voice dropped even further if that was possible.  Bobby studied him thoughtfully.  He had a fine head of anger building up on only a few words.

"Well, I'm beat,"  he said, getting up from the table where he had spread some of the old books to leaf through them.  "Must say I seem to have more energy than I remember, but even so."

"You look younger,"  Sam said suddenly.

"How's that?"

"He's right,"  Dean agreed.  "You're still kind of weatherbeaten and all that, but if I didn't know you and had to guess, I'd think you were somewhere in your early fifties."

"I'm more like sixty – I mean, I was,"  Bobby admitted.  "Well, Cas did say they put me together as well as they could.  I guess they cut me a few breaks."

He was glad to get back to the peace of the room, impersonal though it was, and pottered about getting undressed, hanging his clothes in the closet and turning towards the bed with a tired sigh.  And stopping dead, because the bed was now occupied by Crowley.  Bobby paused.  He had about a second before Crowley said something, he knew.  If that.  He could make a fuss about the other man taking over his bed or he could....do something else.

Bobby thumped down on the side of the bed with a sigh and let out a large yawn.  "Hey,"  he said to Crowley, who was opening his mouth to comment, "good to see you.  It has been a day." 

He got no response and glanced sideways after a moment, to see Crowley staring at him as though he had grown a second head.  Bobby guessed people did do that in Hell now and then.  "I say somethin' odd?"

"I suppose not, love,"  Crowley said slowly.  "It's just I've never, in my entire history as a Crossroads demon and on, had someone say it was good to see me.  Your boys don't exactly bother with the niceties before they start with the demands."  He stretched a little and Bobby had to grin.

"Can't blame them, can you?"

"Not at all.  I'd be disappointed if they ever forgot to be careful."

"How about me?"

"You could never disappoint me, darling."

Bobby rolled his eyes at that;  he had walked into that one.  "Don't take this any way at all, but don't you ever get out of that suit?"

"Of course,"  Crowley said, offended, and in a moment the Armani splendour was gone and he was lounging on Bobby's bed in what the hunter thought – not having that much personal knowledge – were black silk PJs.  His feet were now bare and he wriggled his toes in seeming relief.  "Ah, that feels good."

"Keep your voice down,"  Bobby cautioned.  "Sam and Dean are still up and around."

Crowley shrugged but spared him a comment.  The hunter put up with the unexpected quiet for as long as he could before asking, "So, things goin' okay?"

"I think so,"  the demon answered, again without the usual snark.  "Have you reported to Castiel yet?"

"I'm not reporting to him,"  Bobby said, nonplussed.  "He talked to me about talkin' to you, as I've told you, and then he dumped me in Lebanon, as you know. If Cas – if anybody in Heaven wanted to keep eyes on you, I bet they've got a hundred better ways of doing it than sending a has-been hunter back to the mortal realm."  Despite his caution to Crowley, his own voice was rising.  "Is that why you're acting weird?  You think I'm a spy?  Come on, if you thought that, all you got to do is zap away and what can I do?  Cas didn't send me back with any superpowers, you know."

Crowley opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment the door to the room flew open and Sam and Dean crowded through.  They stopped dead when they saw Bobby confronting the black silk-clad Crowley on his bed.  Bobby spared a second to be sure neither Winchester was about to shoot, then continued talking to the demon.  "Or do you still think I'm not me?  I'm somethin' else sent to take advantage of the chaos Cas says you've let erupt in Hell?  I can't even guess what you think might be going on.  You show up like I asked you to and I say it's good to see you, so suddenly that's got your boxers in a twist?  Boys, do you mind?  We're having a disagreement here.  Outside.  Thanks.  I'll talk to you in a minute.  Sam, the door?"

The door shut and there was dead, stunned silence beyond it and also in the room.  Bobby met the fire-flecked eyes of the demon king as they stared back at him.  "So am I on the money with any of that, Crowley?"  he asked quietly.  "You can't handle it when someone's nice to you without what you think is a good reason?"

"Castiel,"  Crowley said and stopped for a moment.  "Castiel knows why you would be the one to use on me."

"You gonna explain that?"   He heard, suddenly, Castiel's awkward voice in his head, trying to explain it to him in Heaven.   _Crowley_ _wished to be more than a friend to you._   He had brushed it off, dismissed it as more of the demon's teasing and flirting, the way he flirted with every one of them, using his outrageous comments to keep them all off balance.  That was all Castiel had seen, Bobby had told himself.  But it wasn't.  With him, for some reason Bobby couldn't fathom, Crowley meant it and he was  _scared_ , the King of Hell was actually scared that Cas and his cohorts were setting him up big time, because he cared for Bobby and that gave the angels a wedge.  It hurt to think about.  It was real and it was scary and it was human.  For a moment Bobby almost understood why it was he couldn't hold on to his memories of Heaven and then the knowledge slid away, except for one small portion:  Love was more than bodies and gender and he had come back for more than Castiel's asking.  If Crowley did love him, then it wasn't....one sided.

"Sam and Dean are right outside that door,"  Crowley said, his raspy British tones almost flat.  "Just saying."

"I don't know how I can get you to trust me,"  Bobby said at last.  "I don't think you know how, you're always gonna think it's a trick.  But part of you wants to or you would have just blasted me and gone back to whatever you were doing, not come here with me the way you did.  Sure, it's an interesting problem, the Mark of Cain itself.  Right?"  Crowley's brows raised and he smiled slightly.  "Yeah.  And you played Dean, to get him to want the damn thing and then to kill your enemy.  But it makes him too damn chancy to have at your back, so you give him back to Sam, to fix or not.  But Dean walked out on you before you did that, didn't he?  You said that yourself.  Bet no one's done that to you in a good long time, have they?"  He shifted to sit on the bed, leaning against the headboard next to Crowley.  "Cas thought I could help you.  If you're sorted out, Hell is sorted out or that's what he seems to think.  He's got no reason to harm you and nor have I.  Bump you off and someone else takes over, someone none of us know.  Trust doesn't have to come into it, just the knowledge that it doesn't do us a damn bit of good to harm you.  Sure, that might not matter to Dean because he's not too tightly wrapped at the moment..."

There was a protesting mutter from beyond the door and Bobby paused to listen to it.  "You know it's true, Dean,"  he called.  "So stand down and go away, both of you.  I've got this."

"They have,"  Crowley said softly, a note of surprise entering his voice.  "At least, they have moved off a few paces and are now arguing.  You were saying Dean might gank me without reference to the greater good?  What a surprise."

"Yeah, well, Sam can keep an eye on him and I can keep an eye on you,"  Bobby sighed.  He reached with a socked foot and prodded one of Crowley's feet. "Tell me something, Crowley."

"Hmm?"

He couldn't believe he was about to ask a guy this, demon or no.

"Do you, uh, do you love me?"

Crowley looked directly back at him.  "Don't want much, do you, Mr Singer?"

"I, uh, sorry...."  Bobby felt his mind seize up and start to flail.  Any moment now Crowley would start in with his relentless sarcasm that could shred his victim in moments.  He wished he could  _talk_ properly, like Karen had been able to.  He didn't think he had ever properly told her what she meant to him, but fortunately she had had the perception not to need his words. 

Then he felt Crowley's hand grip his where he had rested it on his knee.  "I'm a demon,"  that husky British voice said close to his ear, so quiet that the listeners beyond the door probably wouldn't pick it up.  "That means absence of hope, you know.  It's said demons are unable to love, that it is burned and beaten out of us with our very humanity.  So I don't know what it means....that I do love you.  I think I will lose the throne of Hell beause of it – and not care."

"Hey, I didn't ask you to...."

"You don't have to say anything back,"  Crowley added wearily.  "I'm sure I've made a greater fool of myself from time to time but I can't quite think when."

Bobby engulfed Crowley's hand with his own and stretched an arm around his shoulders again, pulling the demon against him.  "Give me a chance to talk, all right?"  Bobby asked.  "I – I don't know what to call how I feel either, except I never cuddled up to a guy before.  But I know I wanted to come back here because of you.  The boys don't need me any more, not really.  I don't know if I can come up with anything to help Dean or not, but I knew I could talk to you."  Awkwardly, he turned to face the demon and cautiously rested a hand on his shoulder.  "Anything else, well, you're gonna have to help a lot because I'm clueless.  You bein' a guy...."

Crowley's face changed completely when he smiled.  "That's what perturbs you the most, Robert Singer, that I'm a guy?"

"On my bed in damn black silk PJs, yeah!"

"I could take them off,"  Crowley conceded and Bobby half groaned, half chuckled.  Crowley leaned closer to him and paused a few inches away.  "Or perhaps, if you wouldn't mind, we could begin with a kiss?"

"That would be....okay,"  Bobby said and then Crowley kissed him.  He froze a moment at the feel of the other's beard against his cheek, then determinedly kissed the demon back, grasping his shoulder to hold him.  "They still outside the door?"  he whispered in Crowley's ear.

"No,"  Crowley whispered back and pulled him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time-wise; I've decided this is happening just before the events of The Executioner's Song begin to play out.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Morning in the bunker looked exactly the same as night.  Bobby Singer opened his eyes and stared morosely at the digital clock Sam had given him.  At least his body clock was working right; it was just past 6 am.  "I'm not gonna be able to handle living in a damn gopher hole for long,"  he muttered.

"You should try Hell," said the sleepy British voice at his back. 

Right.  Memory of the night didn't so much return as hit him over the head and stand chortling over his body.  For one, he was naked.  For two, so was the body comfortably resting against his back.  For three, that other body was definitely male.  Bobby's first impulse was to pull away, give himself time to take stock, to do something, but his second was another memory of the night:  Crowley's gentleness, taking things slowly and never once pushing beyond what Bobby could handle.  So he stayed where he was, aware of Crowley's hand now stroking down his back.

Crowley had encouraged Bobby to take the lead, saying in his dry way that Bobby might find that more familiar.   _Don't know about that,_ Bobby had told him, but familiar or not, the melding of their bodies had felt right, as nothing had since he had been tossed back into a world that had gone on without him.  When Crowley moved free of him and turned to face him, still breathing hard, he'd spoken briefly, a note of surprise in his voice.  "You said you'd never done this."

"I hadn't,"  Bobby agreed.

"I would hardly have known it, love."

He had gone to sleep shortly after that, still cuddling the demon. 

No more reluctance now, as he turned around, pulling Crowley into his arms.  Crowley laughed softly, pressing his cheek against Bobby's own.  _I can hurt him now,_  Bobby realised slowly. _More than anyone else has ever been able to.  Did those damn angels suspect this?  No.  They can't have had a clue._

"I'll pass on Hell,"  he growled back, hugging its King tightly.  "But I'm tellin' you, we have to find somewhere above ground and maybe commute, or I'll go loopy."

"No arguments here, love."  Crowley stretched in his arms like a cat.  "Do you want me to um, vanish while you explain to the boys what's gone on?  I don't really think they'll believe "nothing." "

"No," Bobby said firmly.  "You don't get to dodge the music, if I don't.  Do you know where the bathroom is in this mausoleum?"

"I think there are several,"  Crowley said vaguely.

Bobby sighed.  "I'll find out,"  he said, retrieving his boxers from the floor and putting them on.  He gathered clean clothes from a drawer and looked in vain for a towel.  He would have to ask Sam – somehow Sam seemed the easier choice – and hopefully dodge explanations until he was showered.  "See you in a few."

Sam was at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and his laptop.  No sign of Dean.  The younger Winchester looked up with a face full of questions and Bobby held up a hand.  "After I get a shower.  Towels.  Bathroom."

"Uh, sure, I'll show you."  Sam led him past a hall closet, retrieved a towel.  "There's really good water pressure,"  he said hopefully.  "You want some breakfast?  I can start some eggs."

"Whatever's going, thanks, Sam.  Where's Dean?"

"In the gym.  He thinks workouts help to keep him calmer."

Bobby supposed they did.  "Anything from Cas?"

"Dean tried to call him.  No answer.  He's running himself pretty ragged, trying to find any hint of where Cain might be."

"Hope he's all right,"  Bobby muttered, thinking for the first time that maybe the angel's silence wasn't voluntary.  He went off to the bathroom to take his shower, agreeing with Sam that the water pressure and heat was definitely excellent.  Bobby half-expected Crowley to have disappeared when he got back to his room, but the demon was there, once more nattily attired in his suit, as pristine as ever.  "Comin' to breakfast?"  Bobby asked him.

"I don't eat, love, but I'll keep you company."

"You can drink coffee at least,"  Bobby said.  "Be social."

When they entered the kitchen, Sam was cooking what looked and smelled like scrambled eggs.  He looked at each of them, then back at his pan.  "I called Dean,"  he said.  "He'll be here in a minute."

"He's here,"  Dean's voice came from behind them and Bobby felt his neck prickle with unease.  He didn't like feeling that way about Dean, but hell, if Dean was worried that he, Bobby, wasn't really him, then Bobby was just that concerned about someone who had been a Knight of Hell and wore the thing that had caused it on his arm like a damned tattoo.  Bobby and Crowley both moved around the table out of Dean's way.  Dean had also cleaned up and was in jeans and a black t-shirt.  No sign of any weapons but even here in their sanctum, Bobby was sure he was still carrying.  Dean's dark eyes considered him and then he looked at Crowley.  "Have a fun night, you two?"

"Dean,"  Sam said.

"It's okay, Sam,"  Bobby growled.  For some reason the rest of his words were stuck in his throat and Crowley, damn him, was smirking at Dean and not helping in the least.   "Thanks, Dean, yeah, we did."  Sam deposited a plate of eggs in front of him and retreated out of the line of fire, yet ready to suppress whoever needed it.  "We gonna talk about your problem now or stick with my personal life?"

"When your personal life involves the King of Hell, it kind of is our problem,"  Dean said, his voice already raised.  "Did Castiel ask you to screw him as well as sort out his problems with Hell?"

Crowley lost the smirk and his expression became flat and dangerous.  Bobby bolted his first mouthful of scrambled eggs and reached for the demon king's arm, knowing how futile that was if Crowley decided to act.  "Don't,"  he muttered to him.  "Just don't, okay?"  He squeezed Crowley's arm, tugged lightly and the demon sat back in his chair, gaze turned to him now.  "Dean.  Crowley is going to help you now, whatever his deal with me, because it'll benefit him too if the Mark is gone.  You bein' an asshole won't change that.  Will it, Crowley?"

"It's hardly an alteration in our relationship,"  Crowley allowed, though Bobby saw the flashing hurt in his eyes.  The memory, perhaps, of how he and Dean had been "besties" for that short spell of time. 

Bobby went back to eating for a few moments before somebody else said anything.  Sam brought him some coffee and awkwardly asked Crowley if he wanted some.  The demon was surprisingly gracious in his acceptance and Sam managed an awkward grin at him when he brought the mugs.  Afterwards they retired to the library and Bobby asked Crowley whether he had had a close look at the Mark on Dean's arm.

"Not since it brought him back,"  Crowley said, all business now.  "I didn't examine it beyond checking that it was still there after Dean was killed.  It was quiescent.  Then I saw it flare a few times while Dean was my Knight and engaged in his, ah, duties."

"Take a look now then,"  Bobby directed.  Crowley raised brows at him but got up and approached Dean, who gave him a sour look but propped his arm on the table, held so that the Mark was clearly visible.  Crowley looked at it, then brushed a finger against the tattoo.  Everyone tensed, but the only result was Dean asking, "You mind, dude?"  Crowley murmured a few words in a language which sounded like rocks breaking.  "What are you saying?"  Dean growled, pulling his arm away.

"Enochian ritual of banishment,"  Crowley murmured,

"Tell me what you want to try before you actually experiment on me with demon magic,"  Dean muttered.  "That could've ripped up my insides."

"It did nothing at all,"  Crowley said, absorbed in the task.  "Interesting.  I presume you've tried the obvious?"

Everyone tried to look intelligent.

"Holy water,"  the demon king specified, rolling his eyes.  "Salt.  Blessing of a true believer.  Kissing it better."

"Hey!"  Dean yelped.

"Not  _me_ ."  Crowley wondered if it was possible to over-roll your eyes.  He looked at Sam, hoping for some sanity.  "Well?  Try any of those?"

"Uh, I doused it with holy water and it sort of pulsed for a second and then stopped, but not the, um, other things."

"That sounds good about gettin' a priest to exorcise it or bless it or whatever,"  Bobby said.  "There's got to be somebody in the hunting community with a current connection."

"We'd have to tell the priest what it was,"  Sam said.

"Not necessarily."  Bobby decided to let them mull that one over and said to Crowley, "You serious at all about getting somebody to, ah, kiss it?"

"Cain had a lifemate,"  Crowley said, shrugging.  "He was able to control the Mark to the extent that he didn't have to kill to feed it.  However, he maintained that control after she was killed, so I don't know how much of a factor that was.  Squirrel's dating record is somewhat more erratic, so that's no help."

"Could Cain take the Mark back?"  Bobby continued firmly past Dean's outraged muttering.

"I understand he still has it.  If he could have got rid of it himself, I'm sure he would have.  The Mark appears to operate something like a virus, in that Cain can pass it to someone else and still have it himself, albeit in a sleeper state."  Crowley spread his hands.  "I just don't know.  This is an ancient thing, a power possessed by only one person until now.  That's not exactly a large field of experience to go on, even if I am the King of Hell."

"I know.  Thanks." 

The demon nodded in response as Bobby looked at him.  "I know one thing, Squirrel, and that's the fact that your control will get shakier, the longer you go without killing.  But if you do kill, you increase your dependence upon the Mark.  I observed that when you were with me."  He spoke calmly, without any of his usual sarcasm or flirting and Dean nodded soberly.  "Now.  I'm going to try other spells that I know which are used to nullify magic.  Since the Mark is the only magical thing on you, you shouldn't be harmed by anything I'm going to try.  Sam, I want you to stand by with an exorcism; a spell that will knock out demon magic.  I presume you have something?  A bucket of holy water wouldn't do any harm either, unless you dump it on me, which I will not take kindly.  Go get all that ready.  I'm going to get a cup of tea."

Bobby went with him to the kitchen, leaving the brothers to make their preparations.  He wasn't sure how Crowley would take an approach when he was in business mode, but he put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed a bit while the demon was waiting for the kettle to boil. "Thanks."

"You said it, love, it'll benefit me if we can get rid of the Mark.  Also an unstable Squirrel is not something the world really needs.  More unstable."  He leaned back against Bobby.  "But yes, I'm partly doing it because of you."

"If you can't deal with it, I don't know who can,"  Bobby said.

"God,"  Crowley said, holding up a finger.  "Lucifer has a chance, I imagine, since he was around there.  Perhaps even Metatron, but you can't trust him not to lie.  You can't trust any of them, actually."

"That was kind of rhetorical,"  Bobby informed him.

Crowley laughed a little and slid free to pour his tea.  "So do you have any thoughts on this?  Castiel evidently thought you would.  You're not just here as my cheering squad, though I do appreciate the support."

"Your cheering squad?  Is that what you call it?"

"I thought you were cheering at one point."

Bobby groaned, then sighed when he saw Sam in the doorway.  "Uh, we're ready.  You finished with your tea break?"

"I'll bring it with me,"  Crowley said.

*          *          *

Didn't see this coming, Bobby Singer thought.  This place, the whole Men of Letters thing, the Mark, the enmity of the succession of demons running Hell, right up to their King standing there with a tea cup and saucer – only Crowley would demand a saucer – instructing his troops on their placement.  Dean sat there on a chair like he was under interrogation, the Mark exposed on his arm.  Crowley had suggested they use "the dungeon" but Dean growled that the War Room would do just fine and if Crowley got any funnier, he had a demon blade somewhere that needed some practice.

"Once I start,"  Crowley said then, "don't interrupt me.  You have my word that what I'm doing is aimed at destroying the Mark of Cain, nothing more."

"And your word is worth what?"  Sam asked quietly.

Crowley lifted eloquent eyebrows in his direction.  "Keeping my word is part of my job description, Moose – my old job as King of the Crossroads.  If you give me wiggle room, shame on you.  But you're quite safe.  I'd never do harm to you or Dean in front of Bobby, now would I?"

"That's a question," said Sam the part-lawyer.  "You're not saying you wouldn't."

"Very good and that's my point.  I will not do harm to you or Dean in front of Bobby or in fact anything he would find out about."  Crowley began in his familiar light tone but by the end of his words, he sounded far more serious.  He finished his tea and set the cup and saucer down carefully on the map table behind Dean.

"Crowley,"  Bobby said then, from where he sat against a wall of the room.  He wasn't even sure what he wanted to say but the demon king came over to him immediately.  Bobby was very conscious of Dean and Sam staring at him from either side of where Crowley was standing.  "Just wanted to say thanks."

"You did,"  Crowley said softly.  Bobby extended a hand to him and the demon gripped it.  "Stay with me, love."

"You got it,"  Bobby told him.  He didn't know whether Crowley meant right then, as in while he worked, or more permanently, but it didn't matter.  He held on to Crowley's hand a moment longer and ignored the boys' stares.  Then the demon turned to his work.

The Enochian he spoke hurt the mind to listen to.  Humans were never designed to hear it.  Bobby and Sam watched the Mark sporadically flare on Dean's arm and heard Dean swear as though in pain, or curse Crowley, who took it without reaction.  The demon, reciting demonic spells, was frightening, as though his charming exterior was just that, a cover for the real him.   _And it is,_   Bobby thought,  _this is what he's trained to be for centuries.  It's why we always called him into a devil's trap._   Yet all that power notwithstanding, the Mark was not affected in the least.  In the end, with all three humans drooping with exhaustion and Dean covered in sweat, Crowley called a halt.

"If it's sentient, it's not an order of life which can be affected by exorcism,"  he summed up, grimly studying the hunter.  "Dean, seems there's nothing I can do for you or to you in regards to that creation.  Apply to Cain."

"We can't find him,"  Dean grated.  "Cas is looking and  _he_ can't find him either."

"Do better."  Bobby stirred in his chair and Crowley sighed, as though the older hunter had spoken to him.  "I will see what I can do about locating him, though if he finds out that I'm looking, he will only hide deeper.  Humans, demons, artefacts I can find, but the Father of Murder is another order altogether.  To do that, you don't need me here 24/7.  Mr Singer and I are going to remove ourselves from your charming burrow and possibly he will let you know his new address once we're settled.  We will be back during working hours to make sure all is calm with things Squirrel.  Toodles."

With that he walked to Bobby and placed a hand on his shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7

"Toodles?" asked Bobby.  They seemed to be back in the same fancy hotel room as before.  Crowley still stood with his hand on Bobby's shoulder.  He seemed weary and the hunter reminded himself that despite the demon's power, he had been using a _lot_ of energy over the past several hours.  He wasn't sure of the time but thought it had to be early evening.

Crowley managed a brief smile.  "Habit.  Also drives the boys crazy."

"Hah.  Come on, you need to get some rest."    Bobby directed him to the bed and gave him a light push to get him to sit.  Crowley looked at him with wonder, but didn't object as Bobby tugged at his coat.  He could have disrobed by will alone, but he seemed to enjoy helping Bobby pull his coat free and slowly unbutton his shirt.  Crowley was pulling his shoes off and gently teasing Bobby about his keenness to get Crowley's clothes off, when the room's phone rang.  Bobby looked inquiringly at the demon.  "Must be for you. "

Crowley growled something and picked up the receiver.  "Cas,"  he said, raising brows at Bobby.  "How nice to hear from you.  Various people have been trying to – yes, as a matter of fact he is."  He listened and his expression darkened.  "Of the people I would harm, Castiel, Bobby Singer is on the very bottom of the list...oh, that's interesting. You and a small group of loyalists, was it?  You put him in this problem, not that I'm complaining, but perhaps you should show up and help me...."  Again Crowley listened, then spoke a series of syllables which were curses in any language.  He dropped the receiver back on to its holder.

Bobby put the pieces together swiftly.  "He didn't have authorisation to send me back, did he?"

"It seems not, love."  Crowley was slowly pushing his shirt back into his pants and doing up the buttons.  "Though that's a grey area at the moment, with no one essentially in charge up there.  But he seems to have done the job with a few of his besties and not mentioned the matter to the rest of the Host, who are now a little annoyed.  Castiel apparently told them he's too busy to sort the problem he caused by himself and has belatedly realised this might mean others of the Host are looking for you.  So that was a tip off.  He's much too busy to come here and assist himself."

"Looking for Cain,"  Bobby asked, still finding it hard to believe, even as he spoke the name, that the original biblical Cain was here, as large and demonic as could be.

"Just so."

"They can't drag me back,"  Bobby said, knowing how ironic that sounded;  not to want to return to Heaven.

"Darling, they're angels without the boss at the helm.  They will probably just kill you.  This means you will have to go to ground until I can arrange a safe house no one knows about and that means back to the burrow.  Would you like to give the boys a call and explain?"

"You don't want to,"  Bobby accused, unable to stop a grin despite what he had learned.  "You know they'll say something about crawling back."

He got Crowley's most unimpressed expression aimed in his direction.  The hunter smiled and closed the distance between them.  He raised one large rough hand and laid it against Crowley's cheek, then copied the gesture with his other hand.  Crowley stood quiet, eyes focused on Bobby's face, as the hunter leaned close and somewhat awkwardly kissed him on the mouth.  Then he wrapped his arms around Bobby's neck and returned the kiss thoroughly, ending by pressing his cheek against the hunter's. 

"You will be safer there, especially with me,"  Crowley said, his voice a low rasp in Bobby's ear.  "That is what matters and that is what they will care about.  I don't give a shit what they say about me."  He stroked Bobby's face.  "Never mind the message.  You can tell them in person."

He translocated them to right outside the bunker, from which point Bobby knocked on the door.  It was at that point that Crowley noticed that he had left his suit coat behind.

Sam let them in, not asking any questions until they were in the warm, to Bobby's relief and perhaps the demon king's as well.  When Dean showed up, Crowley succinctly told both the brothers about Castiel's call and what he had said.  "So others of the Heavenly Host may seek to rectify what he did and, ah, reclaim the missing soul,"  he said, glancing at Bobby.  "I can set up a new safe place but I need some time to do that and somewhere secure for Bobby while I do it."

"You should stay here, man,"  Sam said earnestly to his foster-father.  Dean muttered something and Sam shook his head.  "No.  Crowley too.  He'll protect Bobby, you know he will.  Please don't disappear again, Bobby, we only just got you back."

"We have to check and strengthen the wards,"  Crowley cut across him.  "You can decide about my welcome or lack of it later."

They split up;  Dean and Bobby, Sam and Crowley, to do the magical checks.  Sam studied the demon king with careful interest as they walked through the corridors of the bunker.  "Moose, I assure you I'm not casing the place for future invasion,"  Crowley drawled.  "Well, only a little."

"It's not that,"  Sam said, speaking only after thought as he usually did.  "It's just – how long have you been in love with Bobby?"

Crowley shot him a sharp look, but relaxed a little when he saw Sam's earnest expression.  He had always been able to trust Sam's sincerity.  He didn't act from dangerous impulse the way his brother sometimes did, especially with the Mark to spur him on.  He hadn't taken any advantage of Crowley's emotional turmoil during the trials, which Crowley had to admit he might have done.  Moose had more of a better nature than he did.  "Have I stopped beating my husband, in other words?"  he asked, pausing to speak the words of the warding spell at the crossroads of the halls.  Sam only waited.  "I don't know, Moose.  Things changed for me after the trials, even not completed.  Before, I didn't care what Bobby thought, only that he should do what I wanted.  I brought him to Hell, intending that he should do what I wanted."  His voice became harsher, self-recriminating.  "Then the trials and certain . . . feelings overwhelmed me.  I deserved to be loved.  Maybe.  I wanted a chance to love and I had lost it.  Maybe in a hundred years there might be someone else for me.  Or not.  Then Bobby appeared in this town, right in front of me.  I didn't believe it was him until it was proven . . . and when he said he was there for me, I hoped.  It hurts, you know, Moose."

"I know.  But he does care for you."

Crowley smiled suddenly, startling Sam.  It wasn't his usual smirk or his pleasure in another's pain.  It was bright and overwhelming and made him feel that maybe something had gone right, in the chaos of their lives.  "I know, Moose.  It doesn't feel quite real to me yet, but I know."

"Dean will take a while to calm down.  He can be a bit funny, you know, on the male/male thing."

"So he hasn't confessed undying love to Castiel yet?"  Crowley decided to let the "bit funny" remark slide past and die.

Sam choked and put a hand over his mouth.  "Dude,"  he said a few moments later, "don't say that to Dean if you want to stay here."

"Fine.  It's their business, after all,"  Crowley shrugged.

*          *          *

Back in the room Bobby had taken over, Crowley sighed a little but smiled at Bobby when the hunter asked him if he was okay.  When Bobby had kissed him, just before he translocated them, in that moment a lot of the tension and uncertainty between them had vanished.  "Yes, love.  I just miss the city skyline view."

"It was a bit fancy for me,"  Bobby said.  "Some old place somewhere with a yard, that's what I'd like."

"We'll have it, love.  As soon as I'm sure the angels have got their panties untwisted."

Bobby chuckled at that.  "You, uh, you plan to stay around," he asked, a note of hope in his voice.  "What about Hell?"

"Why does everyone ask me about Hell?"  Crowley wondered to the ceiling.  "Of course I plan to stay around, darling.  Unless you've come to your senses and don't want me?"

"Don't start that,"  Bobby said, his growl gentle.  He took Crowley's hand and tugged a little to get him to sit on the bed with him.  "I don't know what happened.  I'm not into guys....but I want you.  I still don't know what's goin' on, me being back here like this and all adrift, but that I do know.  Maybe I did start out agreeing with Cas to talk to you, because I wanted to be back here.  And I do.  I don't want to think about Hell or Heaven."  He shrugged, unable to put together the words he wanted.  "Hope you get what I mean.  I want you.  I..."  He paused and Crowley smiled.  "I love you,"  the hunter said awkwardly.  "All right?  It don't make any sense but I love you."

Crowley came into his arms fast, pressing his face against Bobby's neck as the hunter cuddled him.  He mumbled something Bobby couldn't understand, but he knew it didn't matter.  He wrapped his arms around the demon and petted him wherever he could reach.  Bobby caught the words "love you" in return as he overbalanced on to the bed, Crowley in his arms still.  Whatever Sam and Dean heard if they happened to be in the corridor outside, they had the sense this time not to interrupt.

*          *          *

Crowley emerged with Bobby this time, the hunter watching Dean and Sam to see if they were going to comment.  When they saw Crowley, the brothers stared.  He was wearing, instead of his suit, a plain black t-shirt with his dress pants and he was most definitely out of his comfort zone.  He sat at the table drinking coffee while Bobby ate breakfast.  Dean sighed after a few moments, looked at Sam and then addressed the King of Hell.

"Uh, Crowley?  Look, when I behaved the way I did to you, knocking you over in front of your people and all that, I'm sorry, dude."

Crowley blinked in surprise.  An apology from Dean, demon or human, was definitely the last thing he had expected.  "Ah – thank you.  You were a demon, after all, but I have to say they're usually more circumspect about rebellion."

"Lack of practice, I guess,"  Dean said.  "Still, I – Sam's told me he might've ganked me himself before he got around to thinking I could be saved.  You could have saved my life.  Could have hung around and explained, sure, but you still saved it."

Crowley thought that through and decided it still came out as an apology.  Dean was never going to say anything about the close friendship they had shared or the fact that Crowley would have liked it to be more, but he knew it was there.  That would have to do.  And here he was, sitting at a table with the Winchesters and Bobby, still not a part of their team completely, but not an enemy.  He felt Bobby take his hand, out of sight of the others, and squeeze gently.  Crowley closed his fingers around Bobby's and told himself not to grin stupidly.  A tremendous lightness of spirit seemed to have possessed him – wasn't it in a strange place? – and he wondered what had happened to his usual dislike of physical contact, especially in public.

Dean and Sam had stopped talking and were staring at them again.  Sam started to say something warningly to Dean but the elder Winchester raised a hand.  "Okay.  Okay!  I was only going to tell them to get a room, then I remembered they've got one.  Bobby, don't disappear, okay?  Crowley, don't disappear him, okay?  Angels are dicks but they're dicks with firepower."  He paused.  "I didn't just say that, did I?  Right.  What I mean is; the easiest way to chuck your soul back into Heaven is to kill you.  They don't have to drag you anywhere, just have some heavenly sniper sitting out there waiting."

"So I'm supposed to hide in this hole forever?"  Bobby asked, not bothering to say that he and Crowley had already worked out the likely angelic method.

"Well, until Cas can sort them out.  That won't be until he's located Cain, I think."

"Cas is apparently real busy looking for him,"  Bobby said, glancing at Crowley.

"So you're stuck in here because all the cops in the country are looking for you and I'm stuck in here because angels are hunting me down,"  Bobby summarised.  "Crowley and Sam are the only people who dare to walk outside?  Have I got it?"

"Uh, yeah,"  Sam agreed.

Bobby sighed, released Crowley's hand and stood up.  "I'm going for a walk,"  he announced.  "Inside.  You coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it, darling,"  Crowley assured him.

Dean passed a hand over his eyes and muttered something as Bobby and Crowley left.  "Dean, he talked like that when he _wasn't_ sleeping with Bobby,"  Sam pointed out.

"That does not help, dude."

*          *          *

They talked about the house they wanted.  Bobby was vague on the details, just so as it had a yard and no neighbours too close.  An upstairs, he liked having an upstairs to sleep in.  Crowley was enjoying planning the details, however and waved away Bobby's warning that he didn't want any fancy mansion now so not to go overboard.  "Anyway, looks like my second life is gonna be in hiding underground,"  the hunter grumbled. 

"It won't be all bad, love,"  Crowley said, a little distracted as he looked around the corridor they were traversing.  "You do have me."

"You've got to keep an eye on things back home some of the time,"  Bobby said.  "That's what Cas was worried about.  You can't be stuck here with me all the time."

"Hm."  Crowley made no further comment and that worried Bobby.  When he was quiet, something was the matter.  When he spoke again, it was to ask Bobby how he felt about lace on a bedspread and the problem of Hell was sidelined.  If the infernal realm could ever be sidelined.

That night, he told Bobby that he would need to leave again soon.  "Things to organise,"  he said briskly.  "Like retrieving my jacket.  I like that jacket."

"You're goin' to Hell?"

"Been, darling.  I run it."  He dodged Bobby's halfhearted swipe at his head with delighted laughter.  "Yes, that will be part of it.  I want to set some of my people on Cain's trail.  The quicker we find him, the quicker we can sort everything out.  While I'm gone, please stay inside and close to the Winchesters, though I can't believe I'm hearing myself say this.  I would suggest moving to one of the rooms next to theirs."

"You think this place _isn't_ secure?"

"The Men of Letters aren't here any more, are they?  Also Dean's....problem hasn't gone away.  Yes, Cain mastered it but after a very long time."   The demon stretched out, head comfortably on a pillow, looking at Bobby who sat on the bed.  Patrolling the bunker hadn't been enough exercise and the hunter was also bored and afraid that the boredom was going to continue. 

"Yeah.  I wish there was something in the lore about it.  Something that old – even if Cain's been a hermit for centuries, he should have talked to somebody."  Bobby ended with a frustrated mutter and looked over at him.  "You don't have to go right away, do you?"

"No,"  Crowley said quietly.

*          *          *

_Bobby was walking through unknown corridors but knew he was somewhere in the bunker.  He called out but no one answered and he sensed a dusty emptiness around him.  He smelled the iron scent of blood but when he turned, couldn't see any source, and then looked down and saw a knife, an angel blade, wedged into his chest and the blood welling out around it.  It was a death wound;  he knew that and felt the weakness flood through him and his legs give way.  He cried out, though no one was there to hear . ._ .

And found himself being wrapped in someone's arms and that someone talking desperately to him in a raspy British accent, the scent of sulphur clinging to his coat.  Bobby swore weakly, aware that he was soaked in sweat, though the bunker was not exactly warm, to his perceptions.  He had to touch his chest to convince himself there was no knife shoved through his ribs.  "Shit,"  he growled, his breathing still erratic, but realising now that he had been dreaming, that he was sitting up in bed with Crowley wrapped around him.

"You were calling out, love,"  the demon explained, obviously a bit shaken himself.  "Loud enough to wake Sam as well, or else he was awake."

"Where is Sam?"

"Here,"  came Sam's voice and Bobby looked over Crowley's shoulder, wondering how he could have missed a 6.5 foot man standing by the opened door.  "What were you dreaming about?"

"Bein' stabbed and dying,"  Bobby said succinctly.  "Didn't see an angel, didn't see anyone, but I was walking around this place like I was doing before I went to bed and there was this knife..."  He looked back at Crowley, a bit shamefaced.  "I've had bad dreams before but that – it felt more real than any dream I ever had.  Heaven's sent me soft."

"Or they're getting inside your head,"  Crowley suggested.

"Is that something they can do?"

"Well, it's something demons can do, so I'm giving the feathered bints the benefit of the doubt." 

Bobby nodded and breathed in deeply.  The remembered agony in his chest was still real enough for him to enjoy the relief of undamaged lungs.  "Balls, that was bad.  I'm going to get a drink."

"I'm going back to bed if you're okay,"  Sam said.  "Give me a call if you need anything."

"Thanks, Sam."

Crowley went with him to the kitchen and located a bottle of whisky and two glasses, after which Bobby suggested they drink in the library.  The surroundings of books was more restful to him than anywhere else in the bunker and the space large enough for him not to feel confined.  The demon pulled up a chair next to his. 

"Crowley, I've been thinking.  If the angels take me out, I'm wondering whether I'll even be set to go back to Heaven."

"Because you've been engaged in offensive acts with the King of Hell, hm?"

"I didn't make their rules,"  Bobby retorted.

"I know, love.  I know."  Crowley wrapped an arm around him and Bobby returned the gesture.  "I've been trying to ponder that myself.  Your situation isn't exactly something that's come up before.   But don't worry; my people have special orders should your soul show up Below."

"If I'm not bound for Heaven and they know it, then they're just murdering me, right?"  Bobby considered what he'd just said and groaned.  "Don't answer that."

"It's murder either way,"  Crowley decided and sipped his whisky.  "I'm afraid you are stuck here until this matter of Cain and the Blade plays out.  You're probably the most help to Dean if you stay with him.  Now, I've delayed long enough, I should be about my work."

"You, uh, don't need to do that right away?"  Immediately he wanted to call the words back.  How needy was that?   He had already delayed Crowley by asking him to stay the rest of the night,   Crowley looked at him; curious and teasing and loving.  "Scrub that,"  Bobby mumbled quickly.  "I know you gotta.  It's not like I want a pack of angels after my ass."

"That's the last thing I want too, love,"  Crowley said fondly, with entirely the wrong grin.  "Your ass..."

"Please don't say anythin' more about my ass with the Winchesters around!"  Bobby pleaded.  "Look, I'll shift rooms next to Sam.  I'll find some stupid, feeble excuse like I'm suddenly scared of fallin' asleep on my own.  I'll be fine."  Crowley's dark amber gaze studied him dubiously.

"You won't go outside?"

Bobby sighed.  "It's frigging freezing out there, ain't it?  No, I won't go outside.  Anything to keep you happy, _Rey del infierno._ "  The fire seemed to rise in Crowley's eyes and Bobby thought that the Spanish seemed appropriate in the moment, especially when the King smiled.  His host possibly had Spanish or Italian ancestry along with the British; he had that look, particularly now he wore the short beard.  Bobby found he couldn't look away. 

"Could you sleep now, love, if I stay with you for awhile?"  Crowley asked and Bobby nodded.  They went back to his room and Bobby got back into bed.  "Back in a moment,"  the demon king said and went to knock on Sam's door. 

Very sleepily, the hunter answered, with a greeting that might have been, "What?"

"I'm going to set demons on Cain's trail,"  Crowley said simply.  'I don't know how long that will take, but I need you to keep an eye on Bobby.  Even in here."

"Of course;  what do you think we are?"  Sam yawned deeply.

Crowley ignored that.  "He promised to shift to the room here between yours and Dean's but he won't.  Push him into it."

"Pushing Bobby doesn't work real well.  You'll find that out,"  Sam predicted.  He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the demon standing some eight inches below his eye level.  Crowley looked distinctly odd in a t-shirt with his black trousers.  The worry in his eyes was even stranger, but Sam knew it was for Bobby.  So although Sam thought Crowley deserved any level of grief for what he'd put them through over the years, he only said quite gently, "I promise to keep an eye on him.  Dean and I don't want to lose him again either."

"Thank you, Sam,"  Crowley said, sounding as though the words hurt.  He nodded and went back along the corridor to Bobby's room, hearing Sam's door shut with a definite thud.  Bobby was already half asleep when Crowley settled himself over the covers by his side.  He could translocate from there without disturbing Bobby, he thought, but the hunter's muscular arm settled over him and pulled him close.  "Finished telling Sam to nursemaid me?"

"Just about."

"You take care of yourself too.  I don't want to lose you."

Crowley felt the jolt to his heart like a physical thing.  _I don't even have a heart_ , he thought, from habit.  _I'm a demon.  I'm the King of Hell._   Bobby knew that and he accepted it, that was the real shock.  That was what he kept pushing;  that Crowley needed to get Hell back on the track it should be, to maintain the balance.  _And I am.  What happened with Dean;  that was pure chaos.  And this with Bobby?  What do I call this?_   He turned his face into Bobby's side, breathing in the scent of him, the incredible nearness, then felt Bobby's hand stroking his hair.

"Still with me?"

"Demons don't sleep,"  Crowley said automatically.  He sat up reluctantly and Bobby moved his arm to let him.  The demon sat on the side of the bed and the hunter lying there watched him.  "It could be awhile before I'm back,"  Crowley said.

"You want that goodbye kiss?"

"Not now.  Kiss me when I get back?"

"You got it,"  Bobby said in that soft rumble which made Crowley want to throw himself back into the hunter's arms.  If he did that, he knew he wouldn't leave this night at all, so he only grinned at Bobby, raised his hand in a little wave and was gone.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU of The Executioner's Song [with Bobby]

"We shouldn't be gone too long,"  Sam told Bobby, as Dean came into the room carrying a weapons case.  "You could call it a locked room mystery."

"So all we have to look at is the locked room, I mean, cell,"  Dean commented.  "Guy was apparently due for execution in a couple of weeks, if the news story got it right.  Why would anybody want to spring him?"

"Even murderers got lovers,"  Bobby said, shrugging.  "Or people who want to know where they hid the millions."

"So we drive to Ohio, check this out and head back,"  Sam went on.  "Are you going to be okay here on your own?"

"They've been letting me out on my own for a few years, thanks, Sam,"  Bobby retorted.  Secretly he sort of wished Crowley would show up, but it had been more than a week and nothing from him.  The demon  _had_ said he didn't know how much time he would personally need to take to supervise the Cain hunt and Bobby had been pushing him a bit to settle things in Hell, he admitted.  He was getting seriously antsy with no time outside, not even sticking his head out of the door to feel the weather. 

Dean went out to the car and Sam turned to Bobby.  "I wouldn't take this job but Dean needs to be doing something.  It's far enough away that the cops won't compare notes and anyway, the trail's gone cold from when he ...you know."  Bobby nodded.  Sam had confirmed what Cas had told Bobby about Dean giving in to the Mark, of the killing of the man who had been controlling Claire, Jimmy Novak's daughter.  "So we should be back inside three days, but I'll call you tonight, let you know how we're doing."

Bobby nodded.  It was almost like old times;  the boys out on a job, him staying behind.  Except he wasn't researching anything this time, he was hiding in a damn bunker.  "Well, you need any info, say about ghosts, I figure I know my way around your library pretty well by now."

"Counting on it,"  Sam said soberly.

*          *          *

On the third day, the boys were back and fired up with the news that it had been Cain who entered the prison and apparently freed the prisoner, but only to kill him.  That information was from Castiel, who had joined up with Sam and Dean to show them a burial site in a forest where scores of victims were buried.  Cain cleaning up, the angel said; destroying his own descendants root and branch.  The next new shoot to be snapped off was a twelve-year-old boy, the son of the prisoner Cain had just pulled out of jail to kill.  They had the boy's location;  they had the sure knowledge that Cain would be travelling there.  The thing they needed, that  _Dean_ needed, was the One Blade, currently held by Crowley.

"Haven't seen him, haven't heard anything,"  Bobby said flatly, doing his best to hide his concern.  "He didn't say when he would be back."  He looked at Castiel, but the angel behaved as though he had not seen Bobby.

"Well, lucky we don't need to mess with a summoning,"  Dean said, pulling out his cell phone.  Bobby watched in disbelief as Dean made the call  _to Hell_ and apparently spoke to Crowley, saying something about "Cain's list" of intended victims, which he declared included Crowley himself.  A moment later Dean ended the call, just as Bobby had his hand out for the phone.

"Hey,"  he growled in protest.

"Sorry, Bobby,"  Dean said but he didn't sound apologetic.  "Not this time, okay?"

"No,"  Bobby retorted.  "Not okay.  What's this about Cain being after Crowley?  You were just talking about that murderer's kid."

"He's not, but we had to get Crowley in,"  Dean said, shrugging.  "He's not that keen about the Blade and me getting back together.  Nor am I, but it's the only thing that will kill Cain."

"Kill him?  You were all about talking to him, finding out what he's worked out about the Mark,"  Bobby pointed out, feeling seriously unsettled.  "Now you're talking about killing?  Didn't you say Cain had learned to control the Mark?"

"He's reverted,"  Sam said grimly.  "That burial ground – there could be hundreds of people buried there."

"It's my fault,"  Dean added.  "I hunted him out, brought it all back to his mind, and started him on this track, this idea that he's got to destroy everyone of his blood.  He's mad, Bobby.  I have to end things for him, like he asked me to do when he gave the Mark to me."

"Why didn't you let me talk to Crowley?  He would have come back for me asking..."  Bobby trailed off, realising he wasn't certain of that.  Eight days silence, well, that wasn't long, but considering what he and Crowley had been to one another just before that, he hadn't expected the lack of communication.

"Maybe he would, but that wouldn't have made him bring the Blade,"  Sam said gently.  "It's okay, Bobby.  Crowley isn't going to fight Cain.  Only Dean can do that.  But we do need him for backup, alongside me and Cas."

"If you lie to him, he's going to see it as betrayal,"  Bobby said. "From you especially, Dean."

"He's not our friend, Bobby,"  Dean warned.  "I was with him when I was a demon.  You can hardly say that's of my free will.  You know what he's done in the past, better than anyone.  Think of the song and dance you had to go through to get your soul back."

"He gave me my legs back.  He didn't have to do that."

"We're going,"  Dean said, shrugging that off.  There were no admonitions to be careful, from either side, and not even Sam tried to be sure that Bobby was all right.  The older hunter called out Castiel's name as the angel began to follow the Winchesters out, and Castiel paused, looking reluctant.

"Cas – I know it's not your fault what we're in the middle of,"  Bobby said quickly.  "But Crowley's back on track, you know, no matter what the boys have said about me and him.  Give him a chance."

Castiel looked genuinely confused at that.  "Bobby, Sam and Dean have been fully occupied with the matters concerning Cain.  They have said little concerning you or Crowley except that you have both been here for a matter of days until Crowley left to take care of his affairs.  Is there something else I should know?"

"Cas!"  Dean yelled from the stairs leading up from the War Room to the door, and the outside world.

"No, Cas, there isn't.  Except if Crowley thinks you three have done the dirty on him....it could be a while before he trusts me again.  If he ever does."

Castiel thought about that and nodded jerkily, then headed out without another word.  Bobby sat down at the massive table with the world drawn upon it, and prepared for his long wait.

*          *          *

They came back.

Never mind the classics; Bobby Singer thought these were the three words that he really needed.  Dean, blood-spattered and hollow-eyed and silent and Sam protective and agonised, but both of them alive before his eyes.  Castiel was "doing something before he comes back," said Sam.  And Crowley?  That one got a shrug from Dean and a "tell you later" from Sam.  Castiel blinked in maybe an hour later, after Dean and Sam got cleaned up and sat down for something to eat – Bobby insisted on that – and coffee.  Not booze.  Not tonight.

He heard Dean ask Castiel, "Where is it?" and Cas answer, "Somewhere safe."  That was the Blade.  Bobby swore he could tell when the damned thing was present, it set the whole world on edge.  Now it was gone, or at least hidden and Dean didn't know where. 

"How about Cain?"  Bobby asked and saw them look at one another, no one wanting to speak the words.  Dean looked down, shutting the question out.

"Dean killed him,"  Sam said.

There was a moment almost of respect for the fallen then, passing between three who had been warriors and one of whom, at least, knew the terrible weight of the burden which Cain had borne.  He had tried so hard to move beyond it, to stop killing, but it had not let him.  He had died in the one way which the Mark could not defeat.  Bobby sighed a little, then let the thing go.  Later they would talk;  he would make Dean talk to him, but now everything was raw and in agony.

"Did Crowley help you?"  he asked.

Dean muttered something which Bobby couldn't understand but Sam nodded.  "Yeah.  He brought the blade for Dean and he did some illusion magic to trick Cain, get him where we wanted him.  But he hasn't got the Blade now;  Dean gave it to Cas to keep safe."

"I figured that,"  Bobby muttered.  "Why didn't he come back with you boys?  He tried to help you, Dean."

"Only because you pushed him."

"So?  He still did it freely.  You think I can force him to do anything?  He said he was coming back more than a week ago but there's no sign."

"Cain's dead.  Crowley called off his demons,"  Dean said sharply. "So he doesn't need to check in."  He got up and left the room, ignoring Sam's quiet, "hey, Dean."   Sam followed his brother a moment later, leaving Castiel and Bobby regarding one another.

"Where did Crowley go?"  Bobby asked.

"To Hell,"  Castiel answered immediately.

"And this celestial hit squad on my tail?  Can you do anything about that?"

"I will be returning to Heaven and then I will attempt to reason with the others.  You are a soul who was taken too soon and unready and should be permitted to spend the rest of your natural span here.  I am sure they will listen.  It is not a large matter from their perspective."

"Thanks.  I think.  And Crowley?"

"You have interceded with the King of Hell and told him what he would not hear from any other,"  Castiel said earnestly.  "He has returned to his place as chief of the demons and the energies of the realms appear to be settling back into their patterns."

Bobby stared at the angel across the War Room table.  A tight feeling of dread gripped him and he made himself just breathe in and out for a few moments to compose himself before he did or said something damn stupid.  "You mean you think it's all over?  That it doesn't matter if Crowley comes back at all or if he feels betrayed by you and the boys?" 

He stood up, his anger rising as he realized that, judging by his look, that was precisely what the angel did think.  The matter with Crowley was a sideline, just to get the King of Hell on side for as long as needed to help Dean and destroy Cain.  "Look, forget all that.  I want you to do one thing for me and then we're done, Castiel.  I'm not going to ask you to help me find him because if he's really riled, probably wouldn't be a good idea right now.  But I want to leave here and I want you to help me do it."

In the end Sam was more help than Castiel.  He found the house, after all, and by various juggling of credit cards came up with the bond money and from somewhere, the references for Bobby as a tenant from well, other hunters.  Who presumably could back up the written claims for respectability.  Somehow.  The house wasn't in Lebanon – that would have been too easy – but it was in a small town called Everglade, some three hours drive away.  Doable, in other words.  Sam offered to drive Bobby over to his new home but Bobby refused.  "You better keep eyes on Dean for awhile,"  he said.  "Cas can magic me over there and come up with some cash so I can get a vehicle."

"What if you don't like the house when you see it?"  Sam asked and Bobby laughed.

"I'm not that fussy, Sam.  If it keeps the rain out, I'll manage.  The info said it has basic furnishings, so I'm guessin' that means a bed and some chairs.  The rest I can take care of.  Then I can start sortin' out my life again."

"We need you,"  Sam said.  "Don't think we don't."

"I know you do, Sam.  But then why did Dean behave that way with Crowley?  I don't get it.  He even kind of apologized to him earlier."

"He didn't mean it,"  Sam said.  At first Bobby thought Sam meant Dean had not meant to reject Crowley and to lie to him – something Crowley would consider the supreme insult – and then he saw Sam's expression and knew that wasn't it at all.  Dean had not meant the apology.  He had been softening Crowley up.  Once, Bobby Singer would have thought that impossible, that there was no humanity in the demon to be reached, but he knew now that wasn't so.   Then Sam held something out to Bobby, a cell phone.  "You'll need this,"  he said.

"Thanks,"  Bobby said, a little wary.  He examined the phone and saw that Sam had entered his and Dean's cell numbers and a couple more.  One was marked "Garth." 

"God, he's still alive?"

"Yeah."  Sam grinned a little.  "He's, uh, changed a bit but essentially he's just how you remember.  He's done okay as the new you.  I've even called him to get his take on things, a couple of times anyway.  But he sucks at pretending to be a FBI agent's handler."

"Glad to hear there's some stuff left for me to do,"  Bobby said.  "I'll have to find a new name for myself or folk will wonder how Bobby Singer came back from the dead.  And .... Crowley."  Bobby shook his head.  "How did Dean and you get his  _phone number_ ?"

"Dean,"  Sam said.

"Right.  This really is his number?"

"Seems to be.  No, seriously.  That's the one Dean called him on."

Bobby regarded the number and then abruptly put the phone into his pants pocket.  He wasn't going to try that call with an audience.  He turned to Castiel, who had been waiting silently, aware that he was not exactly in Bobby's favor at the moment and perhaps even why.  "Let's go,"  Bobby said.

When Bobby blinked and found himself outside on an overgrown lawn, regarding a rather elderly-looking white-painted wooden house, he expected to find Castiel standing next to him.  But he was alone.  He grimaced, hoping that the angel had at least made sure that there weren't witnesses to his arrival.  He didn't want to get burned at the stake by his new neighbors.  Small towns, after all.  He picked up the duffle bag which currently held his worldly possessions and headed to the front door, fishing in his pocket for the keys Castiel had given him the day before.  Angels could be handy.  They could also be royal pains in the neck.   _You know you are not safe?_   Cas had asked him, when he provided the keys.   _I have not been able to get any promises from my brothers and sisters who still believe your soul should not be on Earth._

_I reckon I can take care of them_ , Bobby had said.  Maybe it was his tone or expression, always assuming Cas had learned to read such things, but the angel said no more.  Bobby was, after all, a sideline to him, if and until Dean Winchester was finally healed, and the old hunter couldn't even object to that.  Dean was a power that the world needed, him and Sam.  He messed with the key a little but finally the door creaked open and Bobby stepped into his home.  There was a letter from the agent on the hall table, welcoming him and offering assistance if needed, plus the information that they had stocked the fridge.  Nice of them, Bobby thought in faint surprise.  There was clean bedding in the cupboards and so far as they knew, the hot water and power worked fine.   _I live at number 29 so drop over if you need anything.  Sara Wainright, estate agent._

This was number 35.  Bobby huffed a little; agents as neighbors usually meant you had to mind your manners.  Hopefully she wouldn't prove intrusive.  He went into the lino-floored kitchen and opened the fridge, finding an eclectic selection of frozen meals, a couple of salads, milk and even several cans of beer.  Not really his favored choice but he appreciated the thought.  He grabbed one and popped its tab as he wandered through a bare boards living room and a downstairs bedroom which he would turn into a study and library, when he got books again.  Upstairs, he approved of the master bedroom and bathroom, glanced into a smaller room which would do as a guest room/storage space.  It felt strange not to have all his usual clutter around him.

He made the bed and unpacked his clothes to put them away in the closet, remembering as he did so who had got them for him.  After that he looked out of the window for awhile at the setting sun, feeling a bit chilled.  He'd have to put the heat on, or see if there was fuel for that fireplace in the living room.  Or – no.  He couldn't put it off any more.  He pulled the phone out of his pocket and found that number.  There was no sound of ringing at the other end but no one replying either.  Bobby felt unaccountably nervous at the thought that this phone was calling Hell itself.  He couldn't hear any beep for a message either and after counting to ten with no reply, he slowly put the phone away.

Two days later, he called Sam to let the boys know he was settling in, but really to hear a friend's voice.  He'd casually met a few of the neighbors while walking about the neighborhood to get a feel for it.  They were friendly enough, but not pushy.  He hadn't met Sara Wainright yet and was in no hurry.  The rent payments were automatically arranged – Sam said somebody called Charlie Bradbury, a computer wizard, had helped set up the "system" - so unless something went wrong, there was no reason he couldn't bumble along indefinitely.

"How's Dean?"

"He's been sleeping, mostly,"  Sam said, and Bobby could hear how unsettled he was by this.  "I've been getting some rest too."

"Is Castiel still around?"

"No, he said he had some business to take care of.  Hopefully it's telling the other angels not to, you know.  You haven't seen any of them?"

"Don't reckon I would, would I?"

"Some of them aren't that good at fitting in."

"For a hit they don't have to,"  Bobby said.

"You want me to come over, Bobby?"

"No, you're fine – when you can, sure, but no hurry. "

He pressed the disconnect, regarded the phone for a moment as he considered making another call, then didn't.   _Wish I could kidnap some of that lore library they've got.  They wouldn't miss it.  Going to have to get a vehicle soon, if only to go visit some decent bookstores._

_Where is he?_


	9. Chapter 9

In the end Bobby did what he had known he would;  he went shopping for a very particular set of ingredients and then set about summoning Crowley.  He drew no devil's trap.  Even if Crowley was angry, Bobby was sure that the demon would listen first.  That might be rare among his kind, but there was more than one reason why he had ascended to the throne of Hell.   Bobby's living room was still empty, which for now was useful.  He swept the boards and cleansed it before he spoke the words.  There was an airless silence which marked the spell taking effect, and then Bobby, not knowing why he did, said softly in Latin, "Please."

It gave Crowley the leeway to refuse.  Bobby stood where he was for several minutes before concluding that the demon king had done just that.  "I'm sorry for what they did,"  he said tiredly into the silence.  "If you'd come back before then, I would have tried to make things better.  Please believe me."

He warded the house, though knowing the spells were probably useless if several of the celestial host came after him.  Truth was, he was losing the will to care.  This world  _didn't_ need him, though he was prepared to believe the Winchesters did care about him and wanted him with them.  They were grown and could fight their own battles.  Bobby came back to the living room in the course of his warding, but it was still empty and cold.  He went upstairs to bed.

Hours later he woke, finding silence but an acrid smell of iron filled the air.  Blood, familiar to his days as a regular hunter and also from the days hunting monsters that followed.  Most of them bled.  The unfamiliar bedroom was dark but streaks of moonlight entered from the outside.  Bobby sat up in bed, still half-asleep and sniffed warily, wondering if some wild thing had been wounded and come in through some hole in the roof he hadn't spotted yet.  There was a powerful lot of the smell.  He got up and grabbed a robe against the chill air – probably time for that central heating – and padded out of the room, senses on alert.

He moved down the stairs, through hall to living room.  What would be a living room.  He cast his eyes over what should be bare boards and nothing else, and saw the dark shape standing unsteadily there, muttering to itself in what was definitely a British accent.  Bobby at once hit the lights and hurried forward, a huge hope springing to life within him.  The sight of Crowley almost made him stop.  He was dressed in his usual suit, but it was ripped as though by hellhounds, exposing his bare skin here and there, and both his clothes and his skin were soaked in blood.  He raised his head and his eyes glinted demonic red.  "Stay back."

"Let me help you,"  Bobby insisted.

The demon spun around as though searching for enemies, then faced the hunter once more.  "I'm not hurt."  His voice was husky as though dehydrated.  "Well, not much.  Most of this isn't my blood."

_They had surrounded him in his throne room; the high-ranking demons whom he allowed to attend his court while he dealt out justice and punishments.  He had been on his throne and they on the lower seats, well behaved until that point,  so Crowley had not expected trouble.  As the King, he channelled more power than any one of them could hope to reach from the souls within his realm.  Yet all of them were powerful and they rose as one demon, pressing close about him and linking their power so that Crowley was unable to translocate away or summon aid._

_"You have failed, Crowley!" one of them said, a nondescript male creature whom Crowley stared at, determined to remember.  "Yes, you did better for a scant handful of weeks and we thought the King we remembered had returned.  But now you again abandon your realm to consort with the human hunters."_

_"Worse than that," another, in a sharp-featured female host, black as space and beautiful as the stars.  "You have bound yourself to the Earth realm and chosen as partner one who was sent back by the grace of Heaven!"  Her sarcasm was precisely aimed and Crowley screamed, for it carried with it the directed ill-wishes of all the assembled company._

_"You will become again the fickle creature who toyed with the false Knight of Hell, ignoring his people and his realm," said a third, a handsome, white-bearded man..  "We have no faith that you will return to your duty.  Alone you are stronger and can kill and torture at your whim, but in this we are together."_

_They aimed their power at him, intent on ripping him from his host and causing his smoke to dissipate in the final death.  Crowley snarled and pulled all his power together and knew it was not enough.  Yet there was more within him than the power of the King of Hell.  It was a tiny kernel of a thing, the barest flicker of light within his demonic fire, but it was there and it was humanity, the feeble remnant that remained from the magic Sam Winchester had wrought.  Added to his demonic magic, it was enough.  He ripped free of them and turned his fury upon them all, tearing flesh from bones and spilling blood until the floor of the throne room was thick with it and the sickening acrid odour.  Crowley laughed and looked for more entities to kill._

_And heard a summons from the realm from which his kind harvested souls.  It was correct in all respects, except for the coda, the brief whisper of Latin when the spell was done that gave him choice in whether to answer.  Of course, most demons would choose to answer, for the chance of winning a soul for Hell and if not, perhaps the summoner would make a mistake that could end in a death and the energies from that death could be eaten and savored._

_In the midst of his blood-rage, Crowley, King of Hell, heard the plea from a familiar voice.  He took a breath and stalked from the hall, bones crunching under his tread.  There were some things he wanted to take care of before he left._

Crowley staggered and Bobby ignored his order to stay back.  He got his arms around the demon just before he would have fallen, ignoring the bloody mess that made of his robe, and sank to the boards, lowering Crowley gently.  "If it's not yours, you were damn close to what lost it,"  he rumbled, his hands moving deftly over Crowley's body to check for injuries, because it was hardly unknown for a demon to lie to you.  "You stink of it.  Can't you just wish it away?"

"Not at the moment, love,"  Crowley's voice was shaky too.  "You could say I'm out of juice."

"Wouldn't hand you a line like that,"  Bobby retorted.  "Okay, can you get up?  You're having a shower."

He  _must_ be wiped out, the hunter realized, when Crowley had no answering snark for that.  He simply held on to Bobby and let the hunter take some of his weight as they went to the upstairs bathroom.  There was a second one on this level but Bobby had not stocked it at all or set up the second bedroom.  "I'll get you some clothes.  You all right to stand in the shower or you want a bath?"

"Shower's fine."

Definitely shook up.  In the better lighting of the bathroom, he was a mess.  When Bobby helped him undress, the clothes fell to the floor like rags.  "Hellhounds?"

"Worse.  Demons.  My courtiers."

"They.....chase you out of Hell?"

Crowley's laugh was a raw and angry sound.  "Hardly,"  he said.  "They're all dead."

Bobby waited in his bedroom nearby and called Crowley's name when the water was turned off.  Moments later the demon came in, now dressed in some sweatpants of Bobby's turned up several times and a grey t-shirt which hung almost to his knees.  He came over to the bed and stood looking at the seated hunter.  "This place – is this yours?"

"Well, I rent it now,"  Bobby agreed.  "Just moved in five days ago.  The boys and Castiel helped me sort it out."

"With the feather dusters still on your trail?"

"Yeah.  I couldn't stay in the bunker any more.  Just couldn't.  I figured....you wouldn't come back there and if I was going to call you, I wanted to be set up somewhere else."

"You wanted me to come back?"

"Of course I did!  What sort of question is that?  You remember how we said goodbye, don't you?  You think I do that sort of thing all the time, is that it?"

"No,"  Crowley said softly.

"Then what have you been doing all this time?"

Crowley shrugged.  The weariness in his eyes was oddly human, Bobby thought, and impulsively he held out his hands to Crowley, who took a few steps forward until he bumped against Bobby's knees, and then shifted to slide on to his lap.  Bobby sighed deeply and wrapped his arms around him tightly.  "Missed you, Crowley.  You could have called, you bastard."

"You could say I've been trying to avoid the events of this night,"  the demon answered at last, irony thick in his voice.  "I called off the demons I had set to hunt Cain.  They weren't trying hard; they're all scared pissless of the Father of Murder.  Then I had audiences to hold in Hell and...well, call it administration work.  There've been so many demons thrown in chains and sent to the racks that there was a lot backed up.  I decided to re-hear all the cases since I didn't exactly hear them properly in the first place.  That caused a fair bit of resentment even though the high rankers had been daring to criticise me for my....sojourn above when Dean was my Knight."  He shifted back so that he could see Bobby's face.  "But they found out about you."

"That mean I've got demons after me as well as angels?"

"Oh no.  They blamed me for that.  Thought it meant I was going back to my neglectful ways, as they phrased it."  Crowley sighed deeply, but it sounded as much like relief as anything else.  "It's not you, love.  They also discovered I had gone to help the Winchesters and given them the One Blade.  That Dean gave it to Castiel instead of returning it to me.  All this was signs of my failure, you see.  My....links to the Winchesters have displeased many of my demons for a long time, although they previously knew better than to show it.  Mostly.  But tonight they learned to do a thing demons almost never achieve."

"Well?"  Bobby demanded when Crowley paused for dramatic emphasis.

"They worked together.  Combined their power against mine.  I honestly never thought I would see the day."

"You sound proud of them,"  Bobby ventured.

"Oh, I was.  If I hadn't been so furious I might have let one or two of them live.  But it doesn't matter.  I'm sure the others will learn from their example, eventually.  There's several of the high level demons who didn't come to that audience and any one of them has the power to be able to take over as King, whereupon she or he will be able to access the ruler's powers.  How long they stay in charge is another thing, of course, fewer of them have that potential."

"Wait a minute,"  Bobby growled, loosening his grip and turning his body so that Crowley slipped backwards on to the bed.  The demon relaxed in apparent contentment and slid an arm to support his head.  "They have chased you out of Hell, haven't they?  They've – what's the word when you kick a king out?"

"Usually regicide, darling, if you're talking demons."

Bobby muttered at him and Crowley closed his eyes.  Temporarily, all was well, he thought.  He opened them again at a motion and saw the hunter lying beside him, propped up on his elbow to look at him.    "I've warded this place, well as I can.  Your folk won't track you here."

"They aren't  _my_ folk any more, love.  Haven't you been listening?  I've been deposed as King of Hell, so I'm scarcely worth more than a Crossroads demon, if that.  They will shut me out."  He didn't sound as though it grieved him particularly to Bobby, who reached out to trace his fingers over Crowley's chest.

"So are we all right here?"

"Call it a stay of execution for us both."

Bobby sighed and rested against him, petting his hair.  From the usually undemonstrative hunter, this was unusual and Crowley delighted in it.  "I'm sorry,"  he found himself saying.  "I should have called you."

"Sounds like you had a few things going on," Bobby growled, continuing to pet him.  Crowley sighed and relaxed.  He always did like a bit of attention...and he'd had it often in his centuries, but this was different.  Caring.  Bobby's words were understated and few, but that wasn't what mattered.  He turned and moved closer to the hunter, almost burrowing against him, eyes closed, and felt Bobby's arms around him.  Strange;  he felt  _safe_ , and that was something he couldn't remember.   _So how do I know what it is_ ?  the demon asked himself and laughed inwardly _.  I know because he teaches it to me_ .  "You'll stay, won't you?"  Bobby was asking him now.

Crowley bit back his first teasing response, blended with gall.  _Where else would I go, darling?_   Instead he moved to kiss the hunter, felt Bobby's first uncertain response, and then felt that nervousness fade as Bobby returned his kiss and later, much more.  Afterwards, Crowley whispered, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, love."


	10. Chapter 10

Bobby woke a few hours later to find Crowley peacefully asleep by his side.    He listened to the sounds around the house, but admitted he wasn't yet familiar enough with the place for that to be any guide as to safety.  It did feel good to be back above ground – in any sense! – with wind through the trees and starlight and half a moon, when he got up quietly to look out of the window, snagging his robe from on top of the bed as he did so.

He looked back at Crowley in bed, smiling slightly as he would never do when the demon was awake to see him.  Who'd have thought this would ever be?  Him, a hunter, in bed with the King of Hell.  Who had probably just been the target of a coup d'etat, Bobby reminded himself uneasily.  If he had heard of anyone else in his situation, he'd have told them off right smartly for their stupidity in isolating themselves in an undefendable place, simply because they didn't care for living in an underground bunker with a couple of guys going through their own particular traumas.

Crowley was lying on his side, fairly well visible in the moonlight, so that his rather well-padded outline was clear to Bobby, who grinned at the sight.  He knew himself pretty well, or so he liked to think, and he was sure now that whatever attracted him to Crowley was not, well, universal.  In other words, he was no more gay than he had ever been.  Truth be told; after Karen, he hadn't exactly been interested in anyone, despite the efforts of several women.  With one or two, it had needed Sam or Dean to point their interest out to Bobby, who'd been blissfully oblivious.  So why Crowley? 

Bobby had had plenty of time to think that over in the past couple of weeks.  Well, the demon was smart, snarky and surprisingly good company when he liked you.  And like Bobby he did;  the elder hunter admitted to himself with a tinge of embarrassment.  Stayin' in the closet wasn't going to happen with Crowley around.  He wouldn't hide how he felt.  And it felt good to be wanted.  Maybe he'd been needed too, though it sure didn't look like he had helped much – what had Cas said – in  _balancing_ the King of Hell.  Crowley had simply bonded to him and not changed his ways enough for Hell to accept.  And himself?  He was as much a lost creature as the King, now.  Garth had taken his role and even if he studied the Men of Letters library and acquired all their knowledge;  Bobby Singer could not come back, not as he had been.

Being with Crowley was good;  it was that simple.  There seemed to be nothing he didn't know, including the art of making his partner comfortable with what was happening and caring for their enjoyment as much as his own.  So what if he was a man?  Well, male anyway.  He was Crowley and there was no one else Bobby wanted.  Looking at him now, sleeping peacefully, Bobby's body remembered the earlier hours and the intense pleasure Crowley and he had shared and he knew happiness.

"I can hear you thinking over there, love,"  the demon's husky voice surprised him.  Bobby had thought him still asleep.  "Everything well?"

"I think so.  Just woke up for nothing, so I was listenin'."

"With your instincts, I doubt it's nothing,"  Crowley said, rolling to a sitting position.  He stood and came over to Bobby, looking around at the shadows in the room as he did so.

"Us old guys do sometimes wake up for nothin' and take hours getting back to sleep,"  Bobby told him, teasing gently.  Crowley was naked and Bobby found that a little distracting in the moonlight.  The demon king walked to the window, glanced through it and moved away again.

"Let's walk around the inside of the house,"  he said to Bobby.  "I can't see anything or sense anything out there but it doesn't feel right."

"Put some clothes on then."

"I think..."  Crowley began as he opened the bedroom door and turned back to give Bobby the expected teasing grin, "that I...."

The shadows beyond the door surged inside before he could finish.  His eyes wild, Crowley jumped at Bobby Singer and wrapped his arms tightly around him.  Bobby had time to see humanlike shapes inside the room and great black-feathered wings, impossibly huge in the restricted space, fan out as agonizing blasts of flame jetted at him.  Bobby blinked and when he opened his eyes again, the angel-shadows and fire were gone and he was standing on the gravel surface outside the bunker, still held tightly in the arms of the King of Hell.

Powerful queasiness surged in Bobby's stomach and he pushed away from Crowley and fell to his knees, where he vomited his guts out upon the ground.  His face and neck felt burned and so did his hands.  Even his body beneath the bathrobe he wore felt hot and itching as though he had been struck by lightning.

Crowley looked at him in alarm, then belatedly remembered his state and summoned his powers to clothe himself.  He was instantly wearing one of his suits, but he felt drained, which was idiotic after such a small spell.  Even the translocation, between two points on the same plane of existence, was minor in the terms of demon magic.  He gave no time to pondering that, however, and strode to the bunker's front door, where he began to bang on it and shout the Winchesters' names as loudly as he could

Bobby tried to get up during this time but found himself too weak.  He vomited again from the pain in his head and the flaring heat in his body.  Crowley was torn between continuing to demand attention and trying to help Bobby, though he bitterly told himself healing wasn't a thing of demons and whatever ailed Bobby was likely caused by the damn angels.

Dean was first to the door, Sam stumbling after him and trying to make Dean wait to find out who was there before he opened it.  Dean ignored him – who was going to mess with the erstwhile Knight of Hell who still bore the Mark of Cain?  Only somebody who didn't care if he became lunch meat.  They stared at the tableau in their parking lot; Bobby in his bathrobe, groaning in pain and still trying to get up; Crowley trying to make him wait where he was.

"Help Bobby,"  the demon demanded, adroitly moving out of any possible line of fire.  Dean and Sam had already spotted Bobby and his distress and ran towards him, quickly heaving him up in their arms and hauling him inside. 

"What did you do?"  Dean growled at Crowley, who kept pace, his attention so fixed on Bobby that he ignored Dean.  When the demon attempted to follow them inside, an invisible force shoved him back.  "Sorry.  We're closed,"  Dean yelled.

"Hey!"  Bobby shrugged the brothers off, still at the top of the stairs.  Nausea overwhelmed him and he was sick once more, muttering shamed apologies, but feeling much better as he stood up and tried to wipe it off his mouth.  "Geez.  You can't blame Crowley for me heaving.  Yeah, he did just drag me along in a demon taxi, but there were a bunch of homicidal angels in my damn bedroom!  I think one of 'em managed to zap me.  So let him in already or I'm leaving."

The fury in Crowley's eyes wasn't an encouraging sight, but Sam stepped forward and murmured a few words to enable the demon to pass.  Still the King of Hell stood where he was.  "Crowley, come on..."  Bobby mumbled.  He saw that though the suit was magically immaculate, the demon's dark hair was stuck up in tufts, pure bed-head and he wanted, crazily, to grin. 

"Dean,"  Crowley said.  His voice was flat and grim.  "I did not give you the Mark of Cain, but I helped to persuade you to take it.  I did not know it would bring you back but I took advantage of that fact as a Knight of Hell is the most powerful weapon a King of Hell can wield apart from his own abilities.  No, I cannot cure you, if cure is the word, but my knowledge of sorcery is among the best there is.  I am done apologising.  Hate me if you will but acknowledge that I will protect Bobby, if nothing else, and by extension the two of you.  That's all you get.  So.  Do I pass your threshold?"

For a long, long time Dean met Crowley's gaze.  Sam and Bobby stayed out of it.  "I..."  Dean said then tried again.  "I don't hate you.  I should."

The few words showed a torment the former Knight would probably never understand, Crowley thought.  Dean was not one for introspection but for action.  "I took the Mark,"  Dean said shakily.  "Cain told me what it meant."

"He didn't lie,"  Crowley said quietly, looking aside for a moment to allow Dean to back off. 

"You can come in,"  Dean said.

Bobby reluctantly ended up back in "his" room with clean sheets and a glass of medicinal whisky brought by Sam.  "Can't keep away from this place,"  he muttered as Crowley sat on the side of his bed.  "Couldn't even last a week topside.  Balls."  He looked at the weary demon and reached out a hand to trace along the scruff of beard on the side of his face.  "I would have been a goner except for you.  Shit, I didn't hear 'em, didn't have a clue."

"You sensed them,"  the demon corrected, dismissing the thanks.

"Didn't do me much good."

"I think it saved your life."

"Dean's talking to Cas on the phone,"  Sam said from the doorway.  "Cas has been able to identify who it was that attacked you.  He says he'll talk to them."

"What, give them time out?"  Bobby said sceptically.  Crowley chuckled softly beside him and the sound made Bobby feel suddenly warm again, but in a much better-feeling way. 

"You can trust Cas,"  Sam said earnestly.  "I know he's screwed up in the past...."

"Went mad and set himself up as God,"   Bobby muttered.  He elbowed the demon beside him.  "Don't laugh.  You helped with that.  Okay, Sam, I accept he'll try."

"He'll come here and tell us the situation,"  Sam promised.  "This is the closest to a safe place, anyway;  you'll have us, Cas and Crowley.  We will sort this out, Bobby, I promise."

"From you I'll take it,"  Bobby replied.  "Now get out and let me get some sleep, I feel like crap."  Sam nodded and left the room.  Crowley shifted and Bobby gripped his shoulder.  "Not you, idjit."  Crowley nodded.  Bobby climbed wearily under the covers and Crowley undressed and joined him, both stretching out and settling themselves.  Bobby flicked the bedside switch and the lamp went out, leaving almost cave dark, if not for the line of light under the door from the corridor beyond.

"It won't end, will it?"  the hunter asked.  "There's never gonna be a moment when I can feel I did what Cas sent me back for and now we can relax?"

"Your boys are never going to accept me,"  Crowley's gravelly voice spoke close to his ear.  "Not really, not as ....a person.  I'm always the King of Hell to them.  Always a matter of deals and checks and balances.  Not a bad thing, in all, for a demon.  I was never supposed to want you and they're not going to forgive me for that."

"So that's a yeah?  It's not going to end."

"How can I say that, love?"  Crowley sighed and shifted against him and Bobby put his arms around the man, feeling Crowley's body rest against his own.  Crowley's head settled beneath his chin.  "I'm not a god.  I'm only a demon, not even the King now."

"You'll get it back."

"What if I don't want it?  What if I never go back to Hell?  Can I do that, Bobby, live with you as a man?"

Bobby felt a quick, hard jolt in the core of his being.  He kissed the top of Crowley's head, in a balding spot and rubbed a hand against the demon's chest, caressing him and finding a handful of belly to squeeze.  "Can you do that?"  he whispered.

"That's what I said,"  Crowley murmured fondly.  "I'm asking you if you want me, but you're asking something else, I think."

"Whether it's possible for a demon to do that,"  the hunter agreed.  "Of course I want you, idjit."  He slapped Crowley's chest very lightly.  "What does it do to your abilities?  I thought, I guess, demons  _had_ to be in Hell most of the time."

"When we get to a certain level and are permitted to travel, the time spent topside depends on the orders from the King,"  Crowley said.  "When demons were...ah, released in numbers from Hell, quite a few went AWOL and some are still out there, in their hosts, being quiet.  They aren't powerful, as demons go, not unless they kill and killing gets you noticed.  I've used up my energies as King to bring us back here this time.  I'm not at all sure I could translocate any distance for a good while."  He sighed.  "I feel  _responsible_ for Hell, damn it.  So after a certain time for our honeymoon, well, I may go back and teach the rest of the rebels a lesson.  There can't be too many of them left, after all."

"And Hell needs you,"  Bobby said softly.  He wanted to say;  _almost as much as I need you._   He buried his face into Crowley's hair and continued to stroke the demon's chest.  Crowley lay against him, warm and totally  _here_ . 

When Castiel called the angels off, Bobby thought, they would be safe, as such things were measured among their kinds; hunters and the beings they hunted.  They could go back to the house and live....for as long as Bobby survived, perhaps.  And then he might meet Crowley again in Hell.  Or he might be returned to that pastel realm of Heaven and the quiet sadness would return, for there would be no more coming back here when his true span was done.  And demons did not enter Heaven.  He felt an aching in his chest that was by no means physical, and a soreness behind his eyes that he knew was a wish to cry, which he had not done since he was a child and abused by his father.

"Robert, love,"  the low voice said, "are you all right?"

Bobby concentrated on Crowley's warmth and the feel of his body as he moved a little, then the touch of his lips on Bobby's neck.   _Here_ , he told himself fiercely.   _Now._  We can worry about all that other damn stuff some other time.  I'm not going to waste this time, like both of us did before. 

"Yeah.  Just thinkin' way too much.  I want to head back to the house soon's as we get the all clear.  I can drive us or get Sam to do that.  That suit you?"  He got a sleepy, contented murmur that he thought was agreement.  "Only one thing."  He grasped the paunch of Crowley's stomach, despite a mutter of complaint and squeezed again, gently.  "Absolutely no lace curtains, not anywhere.  You got that?"

"Of course, darling."  And Crowley kissed him again.

 

the end for now

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope folk have enjoyed my effort at self-therapy! When I started, I had no idea this was going to be quite this extensive :-) Like quite a few people, I guess, I have problems with depression and anxiety and am going through some major changes in my life. Being in this world and with these characters most definitely helps and I plan more stories later on.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to salute Davechicken's story Tantalus, which helped to inspire me to write this.


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